“Let’s move,” I said.

I led the way, my flashlight pointing down to avoid casting too much glare.

The snow had drifted in through the overhead grates, creating white patches on the black dirt.

We reached the gate.

I put my shoulder against the rusted iron bars and pushed.

The metal groaned, a high, screeching sound that echoed through the tunnel.

I stopped immediately, my heart hammering against my ribs.

We waited in the dark, listening.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of our own breathing.

Then, from the far end of the platform we had just left, a boots-on-gravel crunch sounded.

It was synchronized.

It was the sound of trained men moving in a tactical wedge.

“Go,” I whispered, pushing the gate harder.

The gap widened just enough for a person to squeeze through.

“Isabella, go first,” I said.

She slipped through the opening, her coat catching on a rusted barb.

She tore it free without a sound.

“Eli,” I said.

Luca lifted the boy and passed him through the gap.

I watched Eli’s small hands grip Isabella’s fingers on the other side.