The cost of confusion

THROUGH THE GREASE TRAP

The pounding on the diner's main entrance was deafening. It wasn't just Kestrel; it was the sound of the Thorne empire demanding the return of their stolen property.

"He's trying to break the glass," Finn hissed, his back pressed against the locked employee door. He didn't look scared, just intensely focused. "That door won't hold him long. The main entrance is reinforced, but not this back one."

"The FBI office," I gasped, pointing wildly toward the street. "I need to get to the FBI."

"Not yet, you don't. That guy knows the only reason you're running is to talk to the Feds. He'll have that route blanketed within the hour. We need distance and cover," Finn said, already moving.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me deeper into the kitchen, the floor slick with early morning grease. We moved past stainless steel counters, bubbling fryers, and stacks of unwashed dishes. My heels—what was left of them—kept slipping, but Finn's grip was an anchor.

"How do you know Liam?" I demanded, breathless.

"We were kids. Before the Thorne name got bolted on," he explained curtly, his eyes darting to the different exits. "He still sends money to my mom. Now shut up and move."

He stopped abruptly at the back of the kitchen, in a cramped, dark corner next to a huge, rattling industrial freezer. He knelt down and pulled at a heavy metal grate on the floor.

"The old diner owner was obsessed with escape routes," Finn explained, pulling the grate aside to reveal a vertical shaft of concrete steps leading down into the dark. "This is the grease trap access. It leads to the boiler room in the basement, and the boiler room has a maintenance exit that opens onto the alley behind the block."

I stared at the hole. It was narrow, dark, and probably disgusting. But it was the only way out.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I muttered, already dropping my ruined coat and climbing in. The air immediately smelled stale and metallic.

"It's better than meeting Kestrel," Finn said, giving me a hard shove from above. "Go down two flights. The door handle is on the right. I'll meet you in the alley with the truck."

As I started to descend, the sound of splintering wood echoed from the upper floor. Kestrel was in the diner.

"Hurry, Evangeline!" Finn urged, his voice strained. He slammed the grate back over the hole, plunging me into absolute darkness.

I plunged down the rough, cramped shaft, feeling my way through the dark, the sounds of Kestrel systematically tearing apart the kitchen echoing above me. I finally hit the basement floor—cold, dusty concrete. I fumbled for the maintenance door and burst into the narrow, brick-lined alley, gasping.

I saw the blue truck immediately. Finn was already in the driver's seat, engine idling, his eyes glued to the diner's main street entrance. I didn't hesitate. I scrambled into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

"Drive!" I yelled, shoving the memory card deeper into my clothes.

Finn didn't argue. He gunned the rattling engine, and the old truck roared out of the alley just as Kestrel's dark figure appeared at the far end of the street, spotting us. Kestrel immediately started running toward his vehicle. The escape was on, and now we had a hostile, armed Thorne enforcer hunting us on the open road.