The whisper from the darkness behind us felt like a cold, sharp blade. It wasn't just an echo. It was a hunt.
Leo, even with his injury, was a creature of pure instinct. He didn't panic. He stopped, his body tense in the oppressive dark. He waved for us to press ourselves against the rough, damp wall of the tunnel.
I leaned my back against the cold stone, one arm protectively in front of Marchand while gripping the ledger tightly in my other hand. My breathing, once a ragged gasp, froze in my chest. I didn't dare move or breathe. The only sound was the frantic pounding of my own heart, which felt loud enough to give away our position to the entire city.
Leo shifted, moving slowly and silently like a spider. He angled his body to shield us, gripping his weapon in his uninjured hand while turning off his flashlight. We were blind, but so were they. It was a game of sound and scent.
The scraping noise came again, closer this time. It was the sound of a boot slipping on wet stone. They were clumsy. They didn't know these tunnels, but they were coming.
Then I heard a new sound. A sharp, metallic click. A Zippo lighter.
A small, flickering flame burst into existence in the darkness fifty yards behind us, casting long shadows on the tunnel walls. It illuminated a single, terrifying face—a man in dark tactical gear, his eyes scanning the darkness ahead. The flame glinted off the barrel of his rifle.
"I smell them," he called back, his voice a low rasp that echoed strangely. "They're close. Move up."
The flame went out, throwing us back into darkness filled with imminent danger. They knew we were here. They could smell us—the lingering chemical tang of the tear gas on our clothes and the coppery scent of Leo's blood.
Leo felt it too. This was no longer a stealth mission; it was a race. He grabbed my shoulder with a painfully tight grip. "Run," he hissed, urgency in his voice. "Do not stop. Do not look back."
He turned his flashlight back on, no longer worried about the noise, only about speed. The beam of light was both our salvation and our betrayal, a signal for us to follow and for our pursuers to track us.
We ran.
It was a chaotic, desperate flight through the unknown. Instead of crouching, we ran half-bent, our heads scraping the low, curved ceiling. Marchand, fueled by adrenaline, kept pace, his frail hand connected to mine. Leo was like a guardian behind us, his uninjured arm extended, pushing us ahead.
"Which way?" I yelled at Marchand, my voice echoing.
"Left!" he gasped, pointing to a dark tunnel. "It's a detour, but it's smaller! They won't be able to move as quickly!"
We veered sharply left into an even narrower tunnel, the walls slick with a foul-smelling slime. We could hear them behind us now, their movements heavier and more frantic, the sounds of men crashing through the darkness without concern for silence.
"They're gaining!" I choked out, panic rising in my throat.
Leo stopped. He spun around, shoving me and Marchand forward with such force that we stumbled. "Keep going! Don't stop!"
He faced the darkness we had just fled, raising his weapon with his good arm and bracing it against the tunnel wall. He was making a stand. He was buying us time.
"Leo, no!" I screamed, trying to stop and turn back.
"I told you," he shouted, his voice bouncing off the stone, "my job is to protect you! Go! That is an order from Moretti!"
His flashlight, which he had set on the ground, illuminated the tunnel for our pursuers, making him an easy target. He was sacrificing himself.
"I am not leaving you!" I cried, struggling to return to him.
A beam of light appeared in the main tunnel. A shout. "There! Light!"
"Get her out of here, Marchand!" Leo bellowed.
The first shot rang out, a deafening blast in the small space. It wasn't from Leo; it was aimed at him. A chip of stone from the wall beside his head exploded, stinging my face.
In that split second, as the gunfire erupted, a new, furious sound joined the chaos. It was a different gun, a heavier caliber, coming from in front of us—where we were running.
My heart seized. We were trapped, caught between two fire teams.
"Get down!" Leo screamed, tackling me and Marchand to the muddy floor, covering us with his body.
A figure emerged from the darkness ahead, a black-clad commando with a raised weapon. But he wasn't firing at us. He was shooting past us, a burst of expert covering fire aimed at the men pursuing us.
"Leo! Get the assets moving! I'll hold the rear!" The voice was deep, American, and unfamiliar.
I looked up, stunned, with my face pressed into the mud.
A second figure appeared, smaller, in the same unmarked black gear. The soldier knelt beside us, their face hidden by a gas mask and night-vision goggles. They grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet.
"Who are you?" I gasped.
The soldier pulled off the mask, revealing a familiar, furious, and welcome face.
"Get up, boss," Nyx said, her neon-streaked hair plastered to her head with sweat. "Did you really think we'd let you have all the fun?"