Page 46 of Buried in Blood

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I study his face. Still. Blank.

Too blank.

He doesn’t ask where I’ll be.

Smart man.

I walk toward the house. The tunnel entrance sits behind the utility door, masked by drywall and a locked panel that only three people have ever touched. I press my thumb to the scanner.

Click.

It opens.

The air inside is damp. Old. Tense with memory.

I descend in silence, boots echoing off concrete like heartbeats. The tunnel runs under the eastern boundary of the Orchard—beyond the fences, the checkpoints, the lies.

And tonight, it becomes the artery of the trap.

They’ll think I’m distracted. That I’m stupid enough to move product after weeks of stillness. That I’m arrogant. Predictable.

They forget—I don’t make moves.

I make endings.

I pass through the last section of the tunnel and reach the trapdoor. I haven’t opened it yet. I just wait. Listening.

Crack— The sound of tires kicking gravel in the distance.

Thud— A misstep. A boot on the soil.

And then—

“Move in. Quiet.”

Dante.

I smile.

He’s faster than I thought. Predictable. Sloppy with emotion. Just like my brother.

I let the trapdoor creak open an inch. Just enough. I glimpse them through the black—Lucien’s silhouette stationed farther back, scanning the perimeter with military precision. But Dante…

Dante’s already inside the fence.

He must think the trucks are the real play. The dumb bait. The shield.

He must think I’m stupid.

I slip down the tunnel, trailing his footsteps, hugging the shadows. The compound lights are all red-filtered tonight. No white. No alarms. It looks half-abandoned.

I quickly pull open the trapdoor, and Dante comes falling through into the tunnel.

A twist. A chokehold. A needle to the neck.

His body seizes once. Twice.

And then, crumples.

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