The secret tunnel under the wine cellar smelled like wet dirt and old pennies.
Anaïs stumbled, her bad ankle screaming with every step. She gripped Sacha's hand so tight her knuckles were white. Sacha was holding his light-up robot like a lantern, his small face pale and streaked with dust.
"Mommy," Sacha whispered, looking at the low ceiling. "Are there bats? I don't like flying mice."
"No bats," Anaïs panted, limping faster. "Just dust. Keep walking."
She reached into her trench coat pocket to find a tissue for Sacha's nose. Her fingers brushed against something hard and rectangular.
She froze.
She pulled the objects out.
Two blue booklets.
Passports.
Anaïs stopped dead.
Bastian. He must have shoved them into her pocket right before he pushed them into the tunnel.
He hadn't just distracted the police. He had given them the keys to the cage.
"Mommy?" Sacha tugged on her hand. "Why did the Bad Guy stay behind?"
Anaïs looked at the passports. Her throat felt tight.
