THE BLOODLINES AND BETRAYALS HIDDEN BENEATH THE GLITTERING ASHES OF THE DUKE'S ESTATE

“That’s not the estate’s security system,” Commander Vance barked, drawing his gleaming saber instantly as the stone floor beneath their feet began to vibrate with a low, ominous rumble.

“It’s the emergency gas valve,” Clara realized, her eyes darting toward the heavy ventilation grates lining the ceiling of the vault. A faint, sickly sweet odor began to seep into the damp air, burning the back of their throats with the metallic tang of refined sulfur. “Someone is trying to flood the lower levels!”

Julian coughed violently, his knees buckling as he grabbed the edge of the central desk for support. “They’re trying to burn us out... or suffocate us down here where nobody can hear us scream!”

“Move!” Clara ordered, grabbing her brother by the collar and shoving him toward the iron service door.

They burst out of the vault just as thick, grey-white smoke billowed into the narrow stone corridors from the ventilation shafts. The automated heavy steel fire doors at the end of the hall began to slam downward with terrifying speed, threatening to seal them off permanently in the subterranean maze.

“Clara, the door!” Julian screamed, pointing ahead.

Clara didn't hesitate. She threw her entire weight forward, sliding beneath the descending steel barrier just as it slammed against the stone floor with a thunderous crash, missing her legs by mere inches. On the other side, Commander Vance and two of his guards fired their heavy service rifles into the locking mechanism of the barrier, jamming it half-open to let Julian wriggle through just in time.

Gasping for breath, they crawled up the steep spiral service staircase leading toward the ground floor of the mansion, their lungs burning from the toxic sulfur fumes. When they finally burst through the heavy oak service door into the darkened kitchens, the grand estate was entirely dead silent. The glittering crystal chandeliers in the ballroom were extinguished, plunging the mansion into a chilling, moonlit darkness.

“Where is Richard?” Julian wheezed, leaning heavily against a marble kitchen island.

“He was in the custody of my guards,” Commander Vance said grimly, inspecting his smoking service pistol. “Let us pray they reached the armored transport before the gas hit.”