The grate was covered in decades of soot and cobwebs.

I reached up and grabbed the rusted iron bars of the grate.

They were cold and greasy.

I pulled with all my strength, but they didn’t move.

“It’s rusted shut,” I said, my breath coming in short gasps.

“Use this,” Mr. Alvarez said, handing me a heavy metal pipe from the floor.

I wedged the end of the pipe between the bars and the brickwork.

I leaned all my weight onto the pipe.

The metal screeched, and a shower of rust and dirt fell into my face.

I blinked it away and pushed harder.

With a loud crack, one side of the grate broke free from the mortar.

I pushed again, bending the iron bars upward.

A cold draft of night air rushed into the room, smelling of rain and wet asphalt.

“I can make it through,” I said, looking down at Mr. Alvarez.

“But you have to come with me.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“I cannot climb that.”

“I am too old, Harper.”

“I won’t leave you here,” I said.