He’s right by my elbow, and his expression is now gentle and encouraging, all horror gone. “We’ve got this, Alvin. This will be even easier than hot-wiring the car. Trust me.”
Labeled green arrows of light appear, pointing at the hardware I need from Rafa’s leather-bound case—a “#3 hook pick” and a “tension tool”—and as soon as I raise them to the keyway, a colorful hologram blooms out before my eyes with an exploded view of the lock. It looks like one of those high-end “How Things Work” animations, and above it are little speedometer-type gauges with narrow green sections that show me exactly how much pressure to use with each tool. Like with the heads-up display he created while we were driving, it’s all very cool and video-gamey, and once I insert the tools, they get added to the hologram.
I immediately see why this lock is so tricky—unlike a typical five-pin cylinder where you shove up one pin at a time, here there are pairs of pin stacks on both sides that need to be put in place simultaneously. It would be crazy-tough to do even with a specialized tool, and this hook pick is just a sliver of metal with a curve at the end. It’ll need to be aligned perfectly to catch both of them. On top of that, some of the pins are red herrings. Pick the wrong one and you have to start over. It’d be a nightmare for even an experienced locksmith.
But I have the Avatar of Knowledge, so more arrows pop up to guide me to exactly where I need to place my tools. And once I slip the tools in, Collin slides his arms around my sides from behind and places his warm hands on mine, gently guiding my angle.
I suck in a quick breath.
“This okay?” he asks quietly.
His lips are near my ear, but not so close that I feel his breath. His torso is wrapped around me, though. I feel hisfirm biceps press on the outside of my arms, and I freeze. But I’m not going to lie—with all the stress, all the pressure on me, it actually feels kinda nice to be held right now. To not be doing this alone. Despite all the recent drama, Collin literally has my back.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice a hushed grunt.
He doesn’t say anything more. He just applies gentle pressure with soft palms to help me position the pick at just the right slant as I follow the holographic guide. In less than two minutes, we get the first pair of pins shoved into place—click!—and the cylinder turns just slightly.
I immediately feel a rush of satisfaction, and when I glance over my shoulder, I see Collin’s grinning, too, just as thrilled. Maybe I should stay angry with him. There’s still no reason to think that he wouldn’t encourage me to feed if the situation got desperate. But it’s hard to keep believing that he’s on the side of monsters when he’s literally helping me save this girl.
And I don’t have the bandwidth for another mental debate. Not when there are still seven more pairs of pins to go. I let out a long exhale, sending whatever beef I have with Collin out with it.
As we work to get the next pair shoved back, I can’t help noticing how silent the room has become. It makes sense that Rafa would be quiet. He knows what I’m doing is delicate, and he’s basically holding his breath as he aims the beam of his flashlight at the keyway. But there are thirteen other people around us. Young people who’ve been through hell. Theymusthave heard that we’ll only have time to rescue two more of them. Maybe they wouldn’t beg for their lives, but still, you’d expect them to makesome noise. But they’re now just staring out of their cells, saying nothing.
I follow the redheaded boy’s gaze toward the door. That’s where these teens are focused. Their bodies are tight as bowstrings. Even Emma, who is gaping over my head as I kneel on hard stone in front of the lock. They’re worried about something coming.
Maybe Rafa has the same thought. He sees where I’m looking, grabs the night-vision specs from his pack, gives me a quick nod, and moves toward the door to the hallway. He leaves his flashlight propped up on his pack, aimed at the lock. He glances outside but then shakes his head. Nothing to see.
He softly closes the door behind himself, then removes his mobile from an inside duster pocket and starts taking pictures of the kids in the cells. He doesn’t use the flash, but the phone looks new enough that it should capture well enough in low light. I shoot him a questioning look.
“Evidence,” he says. “Evidence others can’t deny, no matter how cowardly they are.” He shifts uncomfortably as he positions himself for a shot of two cells. I don’t think he likes just standing around.
“Good idea,” I respond. Then I turn back to the cell. “You doing okay there, Emma?”
At hearing her name, she looks down at me. “Mm-hm,” she says, voice tight, clearly not wanting to make much sound. She might also be too weak to talk. Who knows when these kids last ate, let alone how much blood they lost?
I return my attention to finagling those pin stacks into place. Still six more to go. Ticktock, Alvin!
As I make my way through the next two pairs of stacks, I realize it isn’t just the augmented reality visuals or even Collin’s huggy, hands-on guidance that’s helping me do this impossible task. Somehow, he’s making my senses sharper. Or, at least, making me more aware of my own natural abilities—which is kinda cool. (Yet another super-power I didn’t even know I had!) The tips of my fingers manipulating the thin metal now sense the subtlest vibration, the nerve endings almost raw with awareness. My hearing has sharpened to the point where I can detect the most faint click, the slightest misaligned scrape against the internal cylinder.
And that’s how I hear the hum of an elevator descending from all the way down the hall, even before Collin speaks.
“Alvin, someone’s coming down…”
I quickly jerk my head toward the entrance. Rafa closed the door behind himself, but it isn’t flush with the floor. If it’s a paranormal who shows up, they’ll have night vision—and underground, with no windows to the outside, any light will draw attention like a flare.
“Kill the beam,” I whisper. “Spirits say elevator’s on its way.”
I expect Rafa to protest, since it would put me into pitch dark and there’s only one set of night-vision goggles. But he strides over without hesitation and switches off the flashlight.
A frightened whimper rises up among some of the kids, but they quickly hush.
Rafa returns to the door, peering back at me through the lenses wrapped around his head. They glow faintlygreen in my demon sight. He doesn’t seem at all surprised when I reflexively (and stupidly) share a nod with him after our gaze locks.
Hopefully he thinks I have some kind of night-vision spell.
Whatever. I don’t have time to worry about it. I have to keep going. I can’t keep letting myself get distracted! We have to get at leastoneof these kids out!
As I smoothly slide in the next stack pair, I hear the elevator doors open and close. Then, a series of soft little taps, perfectly spaced apart in time—tip, tip, tip, tip—like a metronome wrapped in velvet, threading through the background, subtly getting louder. It’s inhumanly precise, so it takes me a moment to realize they’re footsteps.
