Chapter 6 - Ash and AncestorsThe blast wave shattered every glass screen in the basement vault, raining shards of blue-tinted plastic and electronic dust across the floor. The lights flickered, died completely for three agonizing seconds, and then the emergency red auxiliary grid hissed to life, casting long, bloody shadows across the ruined room.
Ethan coughed, waving a hand through the thick cloud of white smoke and gypsum dust that filled the air. His tailored coat was scorched at the sleeve, and his left ear was ringing with a high-pitched, deafening whine.
He looked toward the doorway.
The two tactical operatives had been thrown backward by the concussive force of the parlor gas explosion above. One lay motionless near the base of the stairs, pinned beneath a fallen section of oak shelving. The other—the lead operative—was struggling to his feet, his gas mask cracked down the center, gasping for air as he fumbled for his dropped submachine gun.
“Laya!” Ethan shouted over the ringing in his ears.
“I’m here!” a small voice cried from beneath the mahogany desk.
The girl crawled out, coughing violently, her face smudged with soot, but otherwise unharmed. She locked her arms around Ethan’s waist, burying her face in his scorched coat.
“We have to move,” Ethan said, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. “Now.”
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He didn't look back at the downed operative. He kicked open the emergency service tunnel door hidden behind the archive safe—a narrow, concrete escape hatch that led directly into the city’s old storm drainage system beneath the historic district.
As they plunged into the damp, subterranean dark, the sound of distant sirens began to wail above them, cutting through the steady patter of the autumn rain. But Ethan didn't stop. He carried his daughter through the maze of concrete pipes, guided only by the distant amber glow of a street grating three blocks away, knowing that Julian Vance had just realized his master plan had officially gone to war.
