Rowan reached back with his free hand and grabbed my wrist.

His grip was like iron.

He hauled me forward into the concrete pipe, away from the open sky.

Inside, the roar of the water was deafening.

It was pitch black.

Rowan did not turn on a light.

He guided us by touch, his boots finding traction on the slimy concrete floor.

“Almost through,” his voice echoed in the dark.

Ahead, a faint circle of gray light showed the end of the pipe.

But as we approached, a shadow fell across the opening.

A figure stood there, holding an assault rifle.

The guard was scanning the water with a high-powered flashlight.

The beam bounced off the concrete walls, coming closer to our faces.

Rowan pushed me against the wet wall of the pipe.

He let go of my wrist and drew his knife.

He stepped forward into the shallowest part of the current.

Before the guard could swing the flashlight into the tunnel, Rowan lunged.

He came out of the water like a shadow.

His forearm caught the guard’s throat, choking off any scream.