Leo's voice, stripped of its usual calm and sharpened with alarm, broke the heavy silence of the vault. What had been a moment of discovery turned into a desperate focus on escape.
"Seal the vault," Marchand ordered, his voice surprisingly steady, that of a man who had anticipated this moment for nineteen years. "Now."
Without hesitation, Leo slammed the small, steel door of the safe deposit box shut. He then forcefully swung the massive, circular main door of the vault. The metal groaned in protest, echoing the gravity of our choice. We were sealing ourselves in, risking a potential gunfight for certain suffocation if we didn't find another way out. With a final, deafening clang, the Heart was sealed. We plunged into near-total darkness, interrupted only by Leo's tactical flashlight beam.
"Dante, we are locked in," Leo said, his voice calm again. "The assets are secure. We need an exit strategy."
"There is no other exit from this chamber," Dante replied, his voice tight with frustration. "The schematics show one door. You are in a tomb."
"Perhaps the new schematics," Marchand corrected, his voice steady in the dark. He tapped a section of the polished granite wall to our left. "But Fafnir was a dragon who guarded his hoard. And every dragon has a bolt-hole."
He ran his surprisingly strong hands along the wall, searching for a seam unnoticed by the eye. "The new owners saw this vault as a relic. They never understood its purpose. It was designed during a time of kidnappings and political unrest. The main function wasn't just to keep people out; it was to allow the keeper to escape if the fortress was breached."
His fingers located their target. He pressed on a specific point, and with a low, grinding noise of stone on stone, a section of the granite wall receded, revealing a dark, narrow opening. A rush of cool, musty air, reeking of damp earth and forgotten time, swept over us.
"It's a maintenance shaft from the original construction," Marchand explained, his silhouette outlined against the new darkness. "It connects to the old pneumatic tube system that ran between the city's most powerful banks. It's been useless for fifty years. It won't be on any modern blueprint."
"It's our only chance," I breathed, clutching the heavy, leather-bound ledger to my chest like a shield.
"Go," Dante's voice commanded in my ear. "Leo, you take the lead. Get them out."
The journey through the shaft felt like a claustrophobic nightmare. The tunnel was narrow, forcing us to move single file. Leo led, his flashlight beam trembling through the oppressive dark. I followed closely behind, one hand on his back and the ledger held tightly in the other. Marchand, surprisingly agile for his age, brought up the rear. The only sounds were our labored breaths and the scuttling of unseen things in the gloom.
Above us, muffled battle noises echoed through the stone. Faint, staccato bursts that could only be suppressed gunfire. The Syndicate wasn't negotiating. They were executing.
"They're clearing the building floor by floor," Leo murmured, his voice a low vibration I felt more than heard. "They're professionals. They'll be looking for us."
We quickened our pace, the sound of our steps echoing in the narrow passage. The air thickened. After what felt like an eternity, Leo stopped. The shaft opened into a larger junction, filled with rusted pipes and defunct pneumatic tubes.
"Which way?" I whispered to Marchand.
Before he could respond, a beam of light pierced through the darkness from a connecting tunnel on our right. A figure. We froze. It was a man in dark tactical gear, rifle raised, scanning the tunnels. One of the Syndicate's soldiers. He hadn't spotted us yet.
Leo moved with an inhuman silence and speed. He pushed me and Marchand back into the shadows of our tunnel, drew a combat knife from his ankle sheath, and simply vanished. I held my breath, my heart pounding in my chest. There was a faint struggle, a soft gasp, and then a heavy thud.
Leo reappeared moments later, a dark figure in the gloom, cleaning his blade on the fallen man's uniform. He gave a quick nod. The path was clear.
We finally reached a rusted, iron ladder leading into darkness. "This goes to the sub-basement of the old post office next door," Marchand rasped, breathing heavily. "From there, a service exit into the alley."
Leo went first, testing each rung. I followed, the ledger tucked into my jacket. The climb was painfully slow. As we neared the top, Leo paused, listening. He pushed open the heavy maintenance hatch a crack. The sounds of the city—a distant siren, the hum of traffic—filtered down to us. It was the sound of freedom.
He swung the hatch open and climbed out, gun drawn, scanning the small, cluttered basement. He gave the all-clear. I scrambled out after him, followed by Marchand, who was panting but determined.
We had made it. We were out of the bank, out of the tomb.
Leo spoke into his wrist. "Extraction team, what's your status? We are in the alley behind the post office."
There was a moment of static, then a panicked voice I didn't recognize. "Leo! They're on us! They knew! The vehicle is comp—" The voice was cut off by the unmistakable sound of a silenced gunshot.
Leo swore, a vicious sound. He pushed me and Marchand behind a large, overflowing dumpster. He peeked around the edge. His body tensed.
He looked back at us, and for the first time since I'd met him, I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes.
"The extraction team is gone," he said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "The alley is a kill box. Both ends are sealed."
Dante's voice crackled in my ear, filled with rage from a thousand miles away. "Leo! What is happening? Talk to me! Leo!"
We were out of the vault. But we were no longer in a tomb. We were in a cage. And the hunters were closing in.