The air inside the utility shafts was slowly turning into an oven.
The faint, bitter scent of the almond-like chemical gas from the precinct vents was chasing us, leaking into the narrow brick tunnel behind us. The only illumination came from the flashing, rhythmic pulse of the red emergency strobe lights filtering through the floor gates overhead. It cast a bloody, sweating glow across the damp stone walls.
"Laura, keep your head down and breathe through your sleeve," Ethan ordered, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He was leading the way, his large body clearing the low-hanging pipes. His torn tuxedo jacket was gone, leaving his bare, muscular back exposed. The blood from his shoulder wound was mixed with sweat, glistening in the red light.
Every few seconds, his hand would reach blin
