Emma Watson
The room smelled of gunpowder and sweat. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as Ray pulled me up from behind the overturned desk. The gunfire had stopped, but my hands still trembled with adrenaline.
Benita was gone.
We had seconds—maybe minutes—before her reinforcements regrouped.
Ray’s jaw clenched as he scanned the room, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths. “She had an escape route,” he muttered.
I followed his gaze to the open passage behind the bookshelf. A narrow, dark tunnel stretched beyond it.
“Where does it lead?” I asked.
Ray’s expression was grim. “Out. We have to move.”
I nodded, forcing myself to push past the fear clawing at my throat.
We sprinted into the passage. The air grew cooler, damp. It smelled of old stone and dust, like it had been buil
