Hiding in Plain Sight

Elena gripped the phone so hard her knuckles turned white. "Burn the city down?" she asked, looking from Julian's grim determination to Sarah's cold resolve. "We're not arsonists. Well, not anymore."

"We're not arsonists," Sarah corrected, adjusting her hat. "We're distractions. The Governor has a private army. We have a disgruntled nurse and three heirs with a death wish."

Julian checked the clip in his gun. "And a ledger."

"The *decoy* ledger," Elena reminded him.

"He doesn't know that," Julian said. "Not yet."

They weren't family. They were a coalition of the desperate, forged in the fire of Arthur Vance's deceit.

"How are we getting to the Tribune?" Elena asked. "The streets are crawling with Halloway's men."

"Underground," Sarah said.

"The subway is compromised," Elena said, remembering the man on the platform.

"Not the subway," Julian said. "The steam tunnels. Dad used them in the eighties to move cash. There's an entrance three blocks from here."

"And it leads to the Tribune?"

"It leads to the basement of the old printing press," Julian said. "Which connects to the new building."

Elena looked at her siblings. They were dressed like fugitives, armed like criminals, and talking about navigating a labyrinth of steam pipes beneath a city in lockdown.

It was madness.

It was perfect.

"Let's go," Elena said.

They moved quickly, sticking to the shadows of the alleyways. The city felt different now—hostile, alive with unseen threats. Every siren made them flinch. Every passing car felt like a predator.

They reached the access point—a heavy iron grate in a loading dock behind a restaurant. Julian used the tire iron to pry it open. The smell of rot and damp heat wafted up.

"After you," Sarah said.

They descended into the darkness.

The tunnels were narrow, slick with condensation. Pipes hissed and groaned around them, the veins of the city pulsing with heat. Elena led the way, using her phone light, the real ledger heavy in her pocket.

"Did you really kill him?" Julian asked, his voice echoing softly. "Arthur?"

"I helped him die," Sarah said, not looking back. "There's a difference."

"He deserved it," Julian said. "For what he did to Mom."

"Which Mom?" Sarah asked. "Meredith? Or the woman who drove the getaway car?"

Elena stopped. "You know about her?"

"The Third Sister," Sarah said. "Claire. Or whatever her name is. I saw her once. When I was ten. She came to the house late at night. Dad called her his 'insurance policy'."

"She's Halloway's cleaner," Elena said. "She's not insurance. She's the executioner."

They reached a junction. Julian checked a faded map he had pulled from his pocket—one of Arthur's old blueprints.

"Left," he said.

They turned left. The tunnel widened, the brickwork older, crumbling.

Suddenly, a light flared ahead.

A beam cut through the darkness, blinding them.

"Hold it right there!"

It wasn't a cop. It wasn't a hitman.

It was a maintenance worker. A heavy-set man in coveralls, holding a flashlight and a wrench.

"This is a restricted area," he growled. "You kids looking for trouble?"

"We're looking for a way out," Julian said, stepping forward, the gun hidden behind his back. "We're lost."

The worker shone the light on them. He saw the soot on their clothes. The desperation in their eyes.

Then he saw the gun.

His eyes widened. He raised the wrench.

"Don't," Julian warned.

"I'm calling it in," the worker said, reaching for his radio.

"Please," Elena said, stepping in front of Julian. "We're not here to hurt anyone. We just need to get to the Tribune."

The worker paused. He looked at Elena. Really looked at her.

"You're the girl from the news," he said. "The arsonist."

"I didn't start the fire," Elena said. "I'm trying to stop the people who did."

The radio crackled on his belt. *"All units, be advised. Suspects believed to be moving underground. Seal the exits."*

The worker looked at the radio. Then at Elena.

"The Governor is a crook," he spat. "My pension got raided last year. I know who signed the order."

He lowered the wrench.

"The Tribune entrance is blocked," he said. "Welded shut last week."

Elena's heart sank.

"But," the worker continued, "there's a storm drain that runs parallel. It comes out in the parking garage."

He pointed his flashlight down a side tunnel.

"Watch out for the rats," he said. "The two-legged kind."

"Thank you," Elena whispered.

They ran.

The storm drain was foul, ankle-deep in sludge. They trudged through it, the sound of rushing water masking their footsteps.

They reached the end. A ladder led up to a manhole cover.

Julian climbed up. He pushed the cover aside, just an inch.

"We're in the garage," he whispered. "Level B2."

He pushed it open fully and climbed out. Sarah followed. Then Elena.

They were in the concrete belly of the Tribune building. Rows of cars stretched out under flickering fluorescent lights.

"The elevator," Sarah said, pointing.

They ran toward it.

But as they reached the lobby doors, the elevator dinged.

The doors slid open.

And stepping out, flanked by two armed guards, was the woman from the car.

The Third Sister.

She smiled, a cold, mirroring expression of Arthur's.

"Hello, nieces," she said. "And nephew."

She held up a remote detonator.

"Did you really think I'd let you walk into the newsroom?"

She pressed the button.

A car bomb exploded three rows away. The shockwave threw them to the ground. Fire rolled across the ceiling.

"Get them!" the woman ordered.

The guards opened fire.