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"Come with me. I'll show you the way."
    I have no reason to trust this dark-skinned woman with eyes like the night. "Who are you?" I say, the desperation in my voice startling even to me. It has the timbre of a man drowning.
    "No time for that.
Come."
She offers me her small hand, taking hold of my bloody fingers. "Before it's too late. Before we have no choice."
    I look once more at the guard, who now looks hopeful. He knows his brethren will be on us soon, knows I'm a dead man walking. A ghost of a smileflickers across his exhausted face. I practically can hear the hope exploding into his brain.
    "I won't use my gun," I remind him. "It won't be quick."
    I raise my gun and bring its butt down viciously on the crown of his head, knocking him out cold. The crunching thud of steel against skull is sickening, but I feel no regret for what I've done. He wears the uniform of the men who murdered my parents. It's as simple as that.
    Then I'm running again, following closely after this gorgeous stranger as she slips inside a dark high-rise.
    She floats like an angel before me, her black hair streaming back and whipping me in the face. I follow frantically behind, praying this place will be our sanctuary. She moves with the confidence of someone familiar with the night and at home in the dark. When I trip and stumble for the third time as we round a blind corner and bound down yet another flight of stairs, she slows her pace and offers me her hand. And that's how we carry on, my hand buried inside hers, gripping it tightly, as if it were life itself—which of course it now is.
    We've descended far below street level, yet I can still hear the howl of our pursuers. It's a royal cacophony of panicked sounds: sirens, harsh voices, the shuffling of boots, megaphones, barking dogs—vicious and bloodthirsty.
    And then my name. The Centurion Guard is calling out my name. "Deacon Larsen! Halt! Deacon Larsen! Stop running! Give yourself up before it's too late! Halt! In the name of King Charles...surrender!"
    "Where are we going?" I say, even more anxious now, only seconds away from capture and torture. We've exited a concrete stairwell into a long corridor that's barely wide enough for two people to traverse. We're still holding hands when we slow to catch our breath. We're both gasping hard for air.
    "They won't find us here," she says.
    "But they know we came into this building."
    "The soldiers will only come so far. Kingdom officials, especially the Guard, will never come all the way down. Not to this cursed place."
    We reach the end of the narrow corridor, and I discover it's a dead end. I hear my name called out again, warning me that I must surrender. The voiceshave grown louder and angrier. I hear the banging of boots and the clatter of men garbed in armor as they bound down steps, taking two and three at a time.
    "What now?" I say, turning to this woman who has thrown away her life in a matter of minutes.
    She doesn't answer. Instead she presses a dusty button on what looks like a small intercom on the wall. A voice crackles instantly from it. "Who's there?"
    "It's Maria," she says, her voice shakier than before.
    Her name is Maria.
    The voice on the other end pauses for far too long. Maria and I share a worried look. Time is running out. The centurions and their dogs are now in the corridor. Flashlights paint our faces alight. German Shepherds scratch and claw against the concrete floor as they hurl their fangs toward us. It'll all be over soon.
    Finally an angry voice replies, "What do you want?"
    "No time to explain. You must let us in. Please!"
    Another pause. Then an impressive unlocking sound clicks, and the wall opens before us, revealing a small elevator with blood-red walls. I grab Maria by the waist and leap into the chamber. We crash hard to the floor. As the doors close, one of the centurions lets loose his dog from the leash. The slobbering beast tears forth and leaps powerfully off his hind legs—teeth out—and slams