Dante was beside her in two strides. "Show me,” he ordered.
She pointed to a rough sketch near the back of the journal. It was a hand-drawn floor plan of the crypt. Rocco stood on the other side of her and looked at the journal. "The priest's passage,” he said, studying it.
"I completely missed it before,” she said.
"So did I,” Rocco said.
Dante looked between them. "Where is it?” he asked.
Lark traced her finger across the page. "Behind the altar."
Rocco immediately understood. "That lines up with the sanctuary."
"So if we can get upstairs, we can get out,” Dante said.
Avery checked the remaining ammunition. "We're running out of options anyway." Another explosion shook the crypt. A support beam snapped, and stone crashed to the floor.
One of the operators shouted. "They're through!" Mercenaries flooded into the chamber as Dante and Rocco opened fire simultaneously. The confined space erupted in chaos. Dante advanced with Rocco moving beside him with practiced efficiency. Neither man needed to speak. They simply worked together, each instinctively covering the other's blind spots. They had years of different training and lived very different lives, but now, they had one common goal—to keep Lark alive.
"Dante!" He glanced back to find Lark standing near Rafael. His knees had finally given out, but she somehow reached him during the firefight.
He sprinted toward them. "What are you doing?"
"He can't walk,” Lark said
Rafael looked up at him. "I wasn't planning to."
Dante knelt beside him. "You can still make it."
Rafael gave a weak smile. "No." His breathing had become shallow. "I've got one lung left."
Lark's face crumpled. "No.” He reached into his jacket again, and this time he produced a folded piece of paper stained with blood. He handed it to Dante.
"Don't let Keller read that,” Santos ordered.
Dante took it. "What is it?"
"The real names,” Santos said.
"What names?" Dante asked.
"It’s a list of people in Keller’s pocket.” Rafael coughed violently. "The ones inside STARR."
"What?" Rocco asked.
Rafael looked directly at him. "Keller has people everywhere."
His eyes shifted toward Dante. "Trust no one.” Before anyone could ask another question, the church bell rang—once, twice, three times.
There was a slow, deliberate clap echoed from the tunnel entrance, and everyone froze. A lone figure stepped through the smoke. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, and not a speck of dust was on his polished shoes. Adrian Keller. He wasn't carrying a weapon because he didn't need one. More than twenty mercenaries filled the crypt behind him.
He smiled pleasantly. "What a touching family reunion." His gaze settled on Rafael. "You've become disappointinglysentimental." Then his eyes found Lark, and for just a heartbeat, the practiced smile faltered.
"My dear." The words echoed through the crumbling crypt. "I've been looking for you since the day you were born." Every instinct Dante possessed screamed that something was terribly wrong. Keller wasn't looking at Lark like prey. He was looking at her like she belonged to him, and somehow, that was even more terrifying.
"Go!" Rafael Santos's roar echoed through the crypt, and Dante didn't hesitate. Years of instinct took over. He grabbed Lark's hand while Rocco covered their retreat, his rifle barking controlled bursts toward Keller's advancing mercenaries, and ancient stones exploded around them.
"Move!" Rocco shouted. The hidden passage twisted sharply to the right, plunging them into darkness. The journal bounced against Lark's chest inside the backpack while Dante practically dragged her over uneven stone.
