His right hand gripped the rusted handrail to keep his balance.

“Marcus said the lower exit leads to the old drainage canal,” Rowan muttered as we descended.

“Is the canal dry?” I asked, my voice shaking from the cold and the adrenaline.

“Mostly,” he said. “We have to cross it to reach the perimeter fence.”

We reached the landing of the first floor.

A heavy red door stood between us and the rainy night.

Rowan stopped, pressing his ear to the cold metal.

“Wait,” he whispered.

Above us, the sound of heavy boots began to echo down the concrete stairs.

They were coming down fast.

“They’re right behind us,” I whispered, looking up into the dark stairwell.

“The door is locked,” Rowan said, his hand straining against the lever. “Manual bolt from the outside.”

“Can you break it?”

Rowan shifted Clara, ensuring she was secure against his chest.

He took a step back and kicked the lock mechanism with his heavy boot.

The metal frame groaned, but the deadbolt held.

“Again,” I urged.

The flashlight beam from the landing above began to bounce down the concrete walls toward us.