The hallway was long and claustrophobic, reminiscent of the underground tunnel. The carpeted floors and moist air muffled the noise of our footsteps. Peter kept his flashlight only bright enough to see a few feet ahead, and when his light skittered across the wall, I saw a series of plain office doors. We were still in the lower levels of the Fortress, where ordinary people worked. If he wanted to find sensitive documents or valuables, we’d have to go higher.

The hallway ended abruptly in a vault-like door. Once again, a scanner was fixed onto the metal. To its right was an electronic keypad the size of my hand, its small green light boring a hole through the darkness. An alarm, I realized. I hope Peter has a plan.

Peter stepped forward and examined the scanner and the panel. He turned and whispered to the man behind him, then gripped the door handle. My stomach dropped, and I stepped forward as if to stop him. “The alarm-!”

Peter pushed the door open, revealing another void of inky darkness. The panel remained unchanged, still emitting its innocent green light. “It is as I thought,” he whispered, almost to himself, “the whole system has been disarmed.” No one replied, and a sense of uneasiness crept over me. If Peter didn’t disarm the system, then who did?

As we pushed forward through the doorway, Owen leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Can you believe our luck?”

I only grunted in response, unsettled by our easy entry. The government wasn’t omnipotent, but it was a stretch to assume that it was careless enough to forget to arm the alarm system.

As we entered the new room, the air grew noticeably cooler and less humid. Peter lit his flashlight and gave us a glimpse around. I stilled, taking it all in with amazement. The ceiling had opened up, and we were standing in a grand room with many doors. Above the doors, the walls were adorned with life-sized portraits of Keon and other officials. They were shockingly lifelike, and I stepped forward, wanting to touch the canvas.

One of the team members stopped me with her arm. I exhaled, suddenly aware that I had been holding my breath.

“Get down!” came a shout. At once, the team hit the deck, and someone yanked Owen and me to the floor. “Cameras,” Peter warned. I followed his gaze to what appeared to be a series of security cameras mounted over the staircase. My stomach dropped. If they were being monitored, we had no chance of leaving the Fortress alive.

The team looked to Peter for direction. He flicked off the light, held up a finger, and crept across the room. The silence hung thickly as we waited for his appraisal. Seconds crawled into minutes. Finally, the light illuminated the room again. He was hidden behind the staircase banister, holding something between his fingertips. His expression was troubled, yet excited.

Peter waved us forward, and we joined him. He held out a hand, a shard of white plastic nestled in his palm. My features pinched together with bewilderment. In response, he gestured upward with his light, and my eyes widened. The cameras lay in ruins. The screens were shattered, and pieces of plastic and metal dangled from their exposed wires. I slumped against the banister with relief.

A man clapped Peter on the shoulder. “Damn. How did you-”

“It wasn’t me.”

“What?” Peter didn’t reply. I swallowed, and my mouth tasted sour. Someone else is here. Whispers broke out amongst the group. Peter hushed us, regaining control, and started up the stairs with a new sense of urgency.

The staircase seemed to curl upwards endlessly. We bypassed several stories, climbing higher and higher into the Fortress. My limbs grew heavy again, but my footsteps were muffled by the velvet coating on the stairs. Droplets of sweat worked their way down my forehead, and my breaths came in gasps through my mask.

Eventually, we reached the top of the staircase. Peter pushed through another door, leading us into a corridor. As I passed through, the broken scanner, still partially attached to the wood, slapped against my leg. When I glanced down, a glint of gold caught my eye. It was a small object, cylindrical and tapered at one end. A bullet casing.

My heart thumped in my chest. I scooped up the bullet and brushed past the other group members, ignoring their efforts to stop me, and pushed the bullet into Peter’s gloved hand. As he examined it, his face paled, confirming that this had not been part of the plan. “Someone is here,” I hissed, “and they’ve got guns!”

“Peace!” Peter ordered, his voice raising an octave, “we do not know if they are friends or foes.”

Reluctantly, I retreated back to my place in the middle of the procession. Although Peter’s words made sense, I couldn’t shake my agitation. It was true that whoever else was inside the Fortress had indirectly helped us by disabling the cameras and the scanners. But why did they destroy the scanners if the alarm was already disarmed? And did they know the code, or was it a government oversight?

I shook my head. We were in too deep to retreat.

The new corridor was lit by red overnight bulbs fixed on the high ceiling. I noticed motion by the wall and nearly jumped out of my skin. Across from me, bathed in red, my distorted reflection was shimmering.

I narrowed my eyes, trying to make sense of my surroundings. What I saw was unbelievable—the walls themselves were plated in silver, which reflected the scattered red light. There were thousands of names etched into the metal. Next to me, Owen was running his gloved hand over the walls, his fingers dipping in and out of the carvings. “It’s a tribute to the king’s agents,” he whispered.

A deep-seated anger, directed at Keon, bubbled up within me. Such a display was utterly useless. The families around the Byre had to scrounge for weeks to earn the equivalent of a small silver piece, while the officials owned estates in the mountains.

I forced myself to focus and examine my surroundings. In between the silver panels were tall, wooden doors. They were inlaid with bronze plaques, and the floor beneath was littered with pieces of broken scanners. “Spread out,” Peter instructed, “and search for anything of value and the documents we spoke about.”

Owen glanced at me. It was obvious he was curious about the documents and why Peter had put his hope in finding them. I avoided his eyes. We’ll be lucky if we get out of here alive. Nevermind the damn papers.

As the members spread out, Peter took Owen and me by the arms. “You two, stay with me.” Despite his harsh grip, I breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that we wouldn’t be alone in the Fortress.

Peter set off at a brisk pace, passing a half-dozen doors before he chose one and pushed it open. His flashlight illuminated a vast record room, with mahogany bookshelves that reached the ceiling. It would have been beautiful, except it had been ransacked. Hundreds of books and folders were splayed across the floor, and several shelves had been ripped from their settings.

One of the team members, a young man, burst into the room. “Peter, the offices, they’ve been…” he paused, glancing around. “Well, the same as here. Absolute carnage.”

Peter frowned. “I know. Do your best to find what we’re here for.” The man nodded and ran off again, leaving my questions unanswered.

Slowly, I made my way across the room, scooting the mess out of the way with the front of my sneaker. I was becoming more anxious by the moment. Whoever was here obviously didn’t care about stealth. Were they searching for something? This destruction is almost… excessive.

I turned and looked back at the room. Owen was crouching on the ground, looking through a pile of books, and Peter was thoroughly scanning the shelves. As I watched, he reached his hand between the bookshelf and the wall, as if searching for something hidden.

Owen’s mask shifted on his face as he smiled at me and held up a silver pen. I nodded warily, keenly aware of each minute that passed. Finally, I broke my gaze away from the door and scoured the pile of debris. My eyes landed on a small sculpture, twisted into the likeness of a dancing woman. It must have been a centerpiece of the room before it had been destroyed.

I bent over and picked it up. It was surprisingly heavy for its size. The piece itself was captivating, with swirling gold accents inlaid with green stones. I passed it to Peter, who tucked it into his backpack. “You did well,” he said, “if we can melt down this metal or remove the gems, it will be excellent funding for the Resistance.”

My worry outweighed my pride, but I nodded and continued to search the room. Some time passed before Peter roused the group again. When we gathered in the hall, the atmosphere was tense. No one spoke of what they had found—it would have to wait until we returned outside. Peter conferred with another group member in quiet tones. I bounced on my heels, eager to be free of the Fortress and its mysteries.

Finally, we began our descent back down the stairwell. Midway, Peter stopped suddenly, causing several people to stumble into him. He held up a hand, calling for absolute silence. He bent low, putting his ear to the stairs and then the banister. The atmosphere was so tense, I hardly dared to breathe.

He looked up, his posture rigid. “Let’s go. Quickly.” He took off at a jog and pushed open the door at the nearest landing, still several stories above the grand room. We ran down another hall, in the opposite direction from which we had entered the Fortress. Between the exertion and the darkness, my vision began to go blurry. The maze of rooms and corridors melded together in my mind, and I became hopelessly lost.

A faint noise separated itself from our footsteps. I tilted my head, trying to pinpoint its source. Owen gripped my arm, and his expression sent shivers down my spine.

“Gunshots!”