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No answer.

“I was on the phone with you.”

Something shifted behind a concrete support.

Mace stayed beside me.

Not in front.

Beside.

“Emily sent us,” I said softly.

A woman’s voice came from the darkness.

“Emily is dead.”

The pain in those three words nearly brought me to my knees.

“Yes.”

“But she left us a message.”

Silence.

“She hid a photograph in a bank vault.”

A quiet sob echoed through the tunnel.

“She knew Helen got you out.”

The woman behind the support began crying.

I took one careful step closer.

“Emily knew she saved you.”

“She died that same night.”

“She never had a chance to remove the boxes she hid.”

“But she knew.”

A pale face appeared beyond the concrete.

Dark hair clung to her cheeks.

Blood ran from a cut along her arm.

Her eyes were the same eyes from Emily’s photograph.

Older.

Tired.

Still frightened.

“Did she say my name?”