Preparation

Ninety minutes. It sounded like a lot. In a movie, it would be enough time to diffuse a bomb, hack a mainframe, and fall in love. But in Mercer Hall, with a hypothermic man who hadn't seen the sun in thirty years, it was a heartbeat.

Iris grabbed towels from the downstairs bathroom, wrapping Elias tighter. He was sitting on a kitchen chair, staring at the digital clock on the microwave as the numbers flipped. *3:16.* *3:17.*

"We need to move," Marcus said, hoisting his duffel bag. "We can't leave evidence. If he finds the door open, he'll know Elias is gone. He'll track us."

"He'll know anyway," Iris said, her voice jagged. "Gable told him."

"She told him we were in the basement. She didn't tell him we got the door open. If we seal it... if we make it look like we tried and failed..."

"He'll still come," Iris argued. "He'll check."

"But it buys us time. Confusion is our friend right now." Marcus grabbed the keys to the bulkhead. "Get him to my truck. I'll close up downstairs. I'll put the wine rack back."

"Marcus, no. Just leave it."

"If I leave it open, he calls the police immediately and reports a kidnapping. If I close it, he hesitates. He checks the room first. He wonders how much we saw. That hesitation gives us a head start."

He was right. It was a terrifying gamble, but it was the only play they had.

Iris helped Elias stand. He was surprisingly light, his bones sharp under her hands. He smelled of mildew and stale curry.

"We're going for a ride, Elias," she whispered. "Just a little ride."

He looked at her, his eyes clearing for a second. "The blue car?"

"No," she said, thinking of the Bronco in the storage unit. "A truck. Marcus's truck."

They moved to the back door. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but the wind was still howling. Iris guided him down the steps, her arm around his waist. Marcus’s truck was an old Ford, parked in the shadows of the carriage house lane.

She got Elias into the passenger seat and buckled him in. He slumped against the window, his eyes closing.

"Stay here," she told him. "Don't open the door for anyone but me or Marcus."

She ran back to the house. Marcus was already in the basement. She could hear the scrape of the wine rack moving across the concrete.

She went down the bulkhead stairs. The water was receding, draining slowly into the sump pump pit Marcus had kicked open.

"Help me," he grunted, shoving the heavy oak shelf back into place.

They pushed together, the wood screaming against the stone floor. It clicked into the latch. The false wall was restored.

To the casual observer, it was just a wine cellar.

"The drill holes," Iris said, shining her light on the floor. "The metal shavings."

Marcus swept them into the water with his boot. "Gone."

They ran back up the stairs. Marcus locked the padlock on the bulkhead doors.

"My car," Iris said. "It's still in the driveway."

"Leave it. If it's gone, he knows you ran. If it's here, he thinks you're hiding inside."

"But how do I..."

"You come with me," Marcus said. "We disappear together."

They sprinted to the truck. Marcus jumped in the driver's side. Iris climbed into the back seat, squeezing behind Elias.

Marcus turned the key. The engine roared to life.

He didn't turn on the headlights. He navigated the driveway by the ambient light of the storm, the truck tires crunching softly on the wet gravel.

They reached the main road. Marcus turned left, away from the city. Away from Julian.

Iris looked back at the house. It stood dark and silent on the hill, a tomb that had finally been robbed.

"Ninety minutes," Marcus muttered, checking the dashboard clock. "Eighty-five now."

Iris reached forward and touched Elias's shoulder. He was shivering again.

"He's burning up," she said. "We need a doctor. Not a motel."

"We can't go to a hospital," Marcus said. "Mandatory reporting. They'll call the police. The police call Julian."

"I know a vet," Iris said. "In the next county. He owes me a favor."

"A vet?"

"He can treat shock. He can treat hypothermia. And he hates my uncle."

Marcus nodded. He pressed the accelerator. The truck surged forward into the dark.

Iris looked at her hands. They were shaking. Not from cold. From the realization of what they had just done.

"If we do this," she whispered, "there's no going back."

Marcus met her eyes in the rearview mirror. "We're already gone, Iris. The only way out is through."