A gust of cold rain blew into the tunnel, smelling of pine and wet earth.

I climbed out into the carriage house.

The floor was concrete, stained with old motor oil.

My vintage sedan sat under a canvas tarp in the corner.

The windows of the carriage house were dark.

Outside, the wind was whipping through the oak trees.

“We need to split up,” I said.

“Marcus, take Daniel and clear the kitchen entrance.”

“They will be expecting us to come from the cellar.”

“What about you, ma’am?” Marcus asked.

“I am going through the library passage,” I said.

“It connects directly to the west wing nurseries.”

“It is too dangerous for you to go alone,” Daniel said.

“I know this house better than any mercenary,” I said.

“They will be looking for a tactical team.”

“They won’t expect me to be behind the walls.”

I looked at Caleb, who was shivering in the corner.

“What do we do with him?” Marcus asked.

“Tie him to the support beam,” I said.

“If we don’t come back, the police will find him.”

“If the syndicate doesn’t find him first.”