Evan moved fast.
The stone hallway bent left, then right.
At the end: a metal door.
It opened before he touched it.
A girl stood there, maybe his age, eyes red from crying.
She held a lighter and a knife.
"You're late," she said.
"I'm Maya," she said. "Your father sent me."
Evan didn't answer. He pointed at the knife.
She shrugged. "Not everyone wants you to find it."
Before he could ask what "it" was, footsteps echoed behind him.
Heavy. Fast.
Maya grabbed his wrist. "Run."
A man burst into the hallway.
Black coat. Black gloves.
Something heavy in his hand — a crowbar.
Evan ran. Maya led him through a maze of tunnels.
Behind them, metal slammed against stone.
"He'll kill you if you stop," Maya said.
They ducked into a small room.
Shelves lined the walls. Jars floated with things Evan didn't want to name.
In the center, a wooden crate.
Maya pointed. "It's in there."
Evan pried it open.
Inside:
A map.
A key.
And a name burned into leather: "Jonas Redd."
Maya swore under her breath. "He's still alive."
Before Evan could speak, a bullet tore through the door.
Maya pushed him to the ground. "Forget the map! Grab the key!"
Evan snatched it and they ran again, deeper into the tunnels.
Behind them, the man in black shouted:
"You'll never find Jonas!"
Maya cursed. "He's lying. Jonas is waiting."
"But where?" Evan asked.
Maya didn't slow down. "New Orleans."
At a small, hidden exit, an old truck waited.
A boy leaned against it, arms crossed.
Maybe seventeen. Grease on his jeans. A cigarette burned low in his fingers.
"Name's Trey," he said. "You have the key?"
Maya nodded. "Drive."
Trey smiled. "Not for free."
Evan threw the photo at him. "Proof enough?"
Trey studied it. His smile faded.
He opened the truck door. "Get in."