But Lily had been sleeping small for years.
She dragged the cabinet an inch.
It shrieked against the concrete.
The voices stopped.
Lily froze.
“Records room,” Mercer said.
Footsteps quickened.
Lily shoved the cabinet again.
The gap opened.
Four screws held the vent cover.
Her pocketknife turned the first.
The second.
The third slipped.
Footsteps closer.
Buck shouted, “Lily!”
His voice punched through the tunnel.
“Come on out, baby girl. You don’t understand what you found.”
Lily removed the fourth screw.
The cover fell into her hands.
Mercer said, much colder, “Don’t call to her. Listen.”
Lily slid into the vent feet-first.
Her backpack snagged.
She pulled.
Fabric tore.
Something fell out and clattered.
The brass key.
She reached for it.
Too far.
The records room door handle rattled.
No.
Not handle.
Lock.
Mercer had another key.
Of course he did.
Lily left the brass key on the floor and dragged herself into the vent.
The door opened.
Light swept across the room.
Buck saw the cabinet first.
“Damn it.”
Mercer saw the vent.
“Go!”
A gunshot exploded.
The bullet hit the vent wall beside Lily’s knee.
Metal screamed.
She did not scream.
She crawled.
The vent sloped downward, narrow enough to scrape her elbows raw.
Behind her, Buck yelled, “You shot at her?”
Mercer snapped, “You want her alive, catch her. You want your life, stop whining.”
Lily crawled faster.
The vent ended in a drop.
She twisted, grabbed the edge, and lowered herself into another passage.
Her boots landed in cold water.
An electric-blue glow rippled around her ankles.
Lily went still.
Do not touch any water that glows.
