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
