It was a flat, synthesized voice, distorted by a tactical respirator.

“Drop your weapons and step away from the girl,” the voice said.

I didn’t stop.

I pushed Eli ahead of me. “Run,” I whispered.

We ran.

The passage sloped upward, the floor covered in slick mud and frozen garbage.

My lungs burned with the cold air.

I could hear Isabella’s ragged breathing just ahead of me.

“Luca,” I called out softly.

“Right behind you,” he said, but his voice sounded strained.

He was limping slightly, his boots sliding on the wet incline.

A sharp crack shattered the silence behind us.

A chunk of concrete exploded near my ear, showering my face with sharp grit.

They were using suppressed weapons.

“Down!” I yelled.

We threw ourselves against the slimy walls of the passage.

Another shot chipped the brickwork above Eli’s head.

The boy screamed, a small, terrified sound.

Luca spun around, raising his weapon to return fire.

“Don’t expose yourself!” I shouted.

But Luca was already leaning out, his muzzle flashing in the dark.

The exchange of gunfire was deafening in the confined space.