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Across the hall, another door opened. Adeline was already upright, Marigold at her side. Her birthday books clutched against her chest. Her expression was still blurred by sleep until she heard the word hunters. Whatever softness remained vanished instantly.
Garrick stepped out from the shadows behind them, broad and silent, already dressed. He had not been asleep at all. One look at his face told me he had been listening for this moment since dusk.
“How many?” he asked.
“Enough,” August replied.
That was all Garrick needed. He moved down the hall without another word, checking locks, glancing toward windows, calculating routes with the quiet efficiency of someone who had survived worse.
Beatrice emerged last, fastening her shawl with hands that did not tremble. If she had been resting, it had only been with one ear turned toward danger.
“I wondered how long we would be granted,” she said, her voice calm as stone. “It appears dawn has answered.”
From somewhere beyond the front of the house came the unmistakable crack of wood splintering and a man’s voice raised in command. No more time.
Mrs. Hartwick appeared at the end of the corridor, lantern in hand, already moving.
“They’ve come sooner than I hoped,” she said calmly. She turned and moved toward the back of the house without waiting for questions, and we followed.
The kitchen was dim, the hearth long gone cold. Mrs. Hartwick knelt before what appeared to be nothing more than a narrow pantry door. She pressed her palm flat against the wood, fingers seeking something unseen.
A soft click sounded. The floor beneath the shelving shifted. Boards lifted silently, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
“You did not think Clerkenwell survived by chance,” she said, glancing at me. “We have always known how to leave when necessary.”
The sound of another door being forced open echoed closer now. Voices. Male. Authoritative.
“Down,” she instructed.
Mira went first, then Beatrice. Garrick handed Marigold down before helping his still weakened sister. August’s hand found mine in the dimness, his grip firm but not frantic.
As I stepped onto the narrow stairs, the air changed—cooler, earthier, the scent of stone and soil rose to meet us.
The hidden passage stretched ahead, low and narrow, with lanterns fixed at intervals along the wall. It was not grand or elegant, but it was intentional.
“This runs beneath three streets,” Mrs. Hartwick said quietly behind us. “It will take you beyond their sweep. There will be someone at the end waiting for you.” She paused, her weathered face steady in the lantern light. “If we do not meet again, I wish you well.”
Before I could thank her—before any of us could speak—she closed the passage door above us. The click of it settling into place sounded like a door closing on a life.
The tunnel curved gently. The earth above us trembled faintly with the muffled thunder of boots.
August’s thumb brushed lightly against my knuckles.
“You are thinking,” he murmured.
“I am thinking that history repeats itself in different costumes,” I replied softly. “Different countries, different centuries. The Underground Railroad. The passages beneath Berlin. People slipping through darkness because the world above decided they had no right to exist.” My throat tightened. “The powerful never learn.”
He was silent for a moment.
“No,” he said at last. “But the hunted do.”
The words settled into the earth around us, steady as stone.
The tunnel sloped gradually downward before leveling out, the lanterns fixed along the wall burning low and steady. The air was thick with damp soil and old brick. Our footsteps echoed softly, swallowed almost immediately by the narrowness of the space.
Adeline’s breathing began to change before I saw it.
It was subtle at first—a hitch. A lag in her step. The faintest scrape of boot against dirt. Then she faltered. Her shoulder went to the wall, fingers trembling as she braced herself. The burns along her hands and forearms were still wrapped in linen. Even in the dim light I could see the strain etched across her face.
