The silence that followed the cut-off transmission felt more terrifying than a scream. It was emptiness, a sign of death. My extraction team, the men Dante had sent to protect me, were gone. They had been executed.
"Leo! Leo, report! Isabella, what is your status? Talk to me!"
Dante's voice blared in my earpiece, frantic and distorted, a sound filled with terror from thousands of feet up. His helplessness felt tangible, almost like a presence in the alley with us.
Leo wasted no time. He grabbed my arm and Marchand's shoulder, holding us tightly and shoving us into the darkest part of the shadow, behind the massive, foul-smelling dumpster. The alley was a perfect brick-and-mortar canyon, and we were at its bottom.
"Comms dark," Leo ordered, his voice a quiet, dangerous whisper. He meant the outgoing signal, not Dante's call to me. He was now like a ghost. Pressing against the brick, with weapon drawn, he scanned both ends of the alley.
The sounds of the city—the distant traffic, a siren—began to fade, overtaken by a new, more threatening noise. The soft, synchronized scrape of combat boots on the pavement. They weren't running. They were closing in. A professional, disciplined approach from both sides. They were not here to talk. They were here to kill.
My heart raced, pounding against my chest. I clutched the heavy ledger, its leather cover offering little protection. This was it. This was how it ended—in an unnamed alley in Brussels, all because we had dared to stir the serpent's tail.
Dante was still a frantic voice in my head. "Isabella! Answer me! That is a direct order! What was that gunfire?!"
"They've cut us off," I whispered, my voice shaking, addressing a man far away. "The team is gone. Leo says it's a kill box."
A choked sound of pure, helpless anger came through the earpiece.
"Mute him," Leo commanded, glancing at the earpiece I wore. "He's a distraction. You need to be silent. You need to be fast. You need to listen to me. Understood?"
I nodded, my fingers fumbling to silence my only connection to Dante. The silence became complete, broken only by the sound of my blood rushing in my ears and the steady, approaching footsteps of our pursuers.
Leo peeked around the edge of the dumpster. "Two at the north, three at the south. Fully armed. They'll flank us and flush us with gas." He assessed the situation, his mind working quickly. He looked up; a sheer brick wall, no fire escape. He looked down; a heavy iron sewer grate, bolted to the concrete. No exit.
"Here," Marchand's voice was a quiet whisper, but it cut through the tension.
We both turned to him. He was pointing not at an escape route, but at a section of the post office sub-basement wall. It looked like the rest, except for a small, rusted, cast-iron square near the ground. It was an old, sealed coal chute.
"The old cellars," Marchand rasped, his eyes shining with a desperate knowledge. "This building connects to the original city foundations. The tunnels… they run for miles. Under the cathedral."
It was a chance. A one-in-a-million shot. Leo moved to the chute, examining the rusted-shut iron door. It was secured from the outside by a massive, old padlock that seemed untouched since the war.
"I can't break it quietly," Leo whispered, his expression grim. "The moment I fire, they'll know where we are. They will close in on us."
"They're already closing in," I said, my voice finding an unsettling calm. I could see the shadows of the men at the alley's end, their shapes twisted by the dim light. They were getting closer.
Leo looked at me, then at Marchand. He considered the situation. "Here's the plan. I'll fire three shots into the lock. It will be loud, but it will buy us seconds. You, Isabella, go through first. Don't wait. Take Marchand with you. Pull him if you have to. Do you understand?"
"What about you?" I asked, my heart racing.
"I'll be right behind you," he said. It was a lie, and we both knew it. He planned to be the rear guard, the wall between us and them.
"No," I said, my voice trembling but resolute. "We all go. Or none of us do. I won't leave you. That's my order, Leo."
A flash of something—surprise, respect—crossed his stoic face.
Thwump. Thwump.
Two small, smoking canisters landed in the alley, hissing as they rolled. Tear gas.
"Masks!" Leo yelled, but it was too late. The acrid smell clawed at my lungs, a blinding, burning pain. My eyes watered, my throat closed. The flush was on.
"Move!" Leo shouted. He didn't wait for me to argue. Grabbing me by the back of my jacket, he shoved me and Marchand toward the chute. He raised his weapon.
The sound of his gun echoed in the narrow alley—a blast of sound and light. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! The old lock shattered, sparks flying.
"Go! Go now!"
Gunfire erupted from both ends of the alley. Bullets struck the brick where we had hidden. The air filled with shouts and the sharp, metallic scent of gunpowder mixed with the burning tear gas.
Leo kicked the iron door open, revealing a square of deep blackness. He practically threw Marchand into the opening. "Get in, Isabella!"
I hesitated, my lungs burning, my eyes stinging from tears.
"He's right behind me!" Leo yelled, firing three shots back at the advancing shadows. "Go!"
I trusted him. I fell into the darkness, landing hard on a pile of dusty, ancient coal. I turned, my hand reaching out, just as Marchand and I were swallowed by utter blackness. The heavy iron door slammed shut, plunging us into a world without light, without air, while the sound of gunfire became muted, like a distant world.
My earpiece, no longer muted, crackled back to life.
"Isabella! I heard gunfire! Isabella! LEO! STATUS! I SWEAR TO GOD, STATUS!"
Dante's voice sounded desperate, as if he were falling apart, and I was in the dark, miles beneath the city, with no way to tell him I was still alive.