“Not necessarily. It means they’ve been here recently but they might not be here now,” he said softly. “All the more reason for us to get to our goal quicker.”

I nodded, wanting to speed up but my legs still felt like jelly.

“Are they watching us?” I asked. “Do they have cameras here?”

He surveyed the area around us before saying, “Maybe but if they knew we were here right now, they’d be here already too.”

“How do you know they’re not?” I asked, my tone bordering on hysterical.

The Sterlings terrified me.

If they were here, it meant we’d fight. We’d be shot at. We could be killed. Strangely, I didn’t care that much about me dying. If I were to be shot and killed, I could either just come back anyway or… I don’t know, do something else, but if Mitch were to be killed.

I wasn’t sure if he could come back from that.

“I have people watching the island,” he said, continuing forwards slowly. “No one has approached. Not even underwater. If they’re watching us, they’re waiting to see what we do.”

I nodded and swallowed, too scared to speak.

His words reassured me but at the same time, they worried me. I somehow hadn't realised how many people or how much work has gone into the mission. I know it sounds stupid but it really surprised me. I thought it was just Mitch and me with Oscar and Lauren waiting somewhere nearby, ready to help if needed. But it sounded like there was so much more going on than that.

It made me feel bad though. I hadn't even noticed or considered that there would be more going on, that Mitch had planned anything else, but of course he had. It felt like he was always at least one step ahead of me, generally even more. It made sense that he would have planned or sorted every minute detail out.

“So, what do we do?” I asked, finally able to put my thoughts into words.

“We keep going,” Mitch said. “Not much else we can do. I’ll get some warning if people approach but I think we have a little more time.”

I nodded and rushed along behind him, not taking my eyes off the path.

It was getting darker though which made it harder. I could barely see where we were going and more often than not had to rely on Mitch to lead me.

When we finally did start to approach the graveyard, we moved slower. Mitch’s steps were somehow even quieter, his whole body tensed and prepared to strike. He was ready to attack in case the Sterlings appeared.

But they didn’t. We reached the church ruins without incident, staying low to hide as much of our bodies behind the low wall as possible.

Mitch weaved through the graveyard towards one of the graves that we’d said looked suspicious on the map back in our room before stopping. He lifted a hand to his lips before tapping his backpack and miming digging. I nodded, understanding that he was telling me that he was going to get the shovel out of his backpack and start trying to uncover the door or whatever it was we were looking for.

He pointed at me and mimed for me to stay crouched and wait. I nodded again, watching as he carefully swung his backpack from his back, wincing at the soft bedding noise that it made. He rooted around in it for just a moment before pulling out a folded shovel.

Staying low and hunched over, he started to dig, pausing every few seconds to scan his surroundings. I did my best to do the same, my head turning rapidly as I tried to see everything at once. It was hard and it made anxiety thrum within me.

I was so on edge. I felt like there were a million eyes on me, making my skin itch, but I hoped it was just psychological. It might be. It could be that I was so worried about the Sterlings being there that I was imagining it. I wasn't sure though.

My head whipped around as a hollow-sounding thunk came from the grave and I stared at it. There was just enough light left to see the grin appear on Mitch’s face.

He moved quicker now, clearing the dirt and stones away, before gesturing for me to come closer. I did, leaning forwards to peer into the hole he had dug.

There was something there, along the right edge there was a hint of a rope. It looked old and was coated with dirt, practically disintegrated, but definitely a rope. And on the other side, there were hinges. They were rusted and dark but I was pretty sure they were hinges.

I really hoped that it wasn’t the top of a coffin. I knew it was unlikely but there was a worry at the back of my mind that Mitch was going to pull it open and there would just be a corpse inside.

Or, I guess it wouldn’t be a corpse. It would probably be just a skeleton by now but I still didn’t want to see it.

Mitch rooted around in his backpack again, pulling a small crowbar and a tiny squeezy bottle from it. I watched in confusion as he leant over the trapdoor, squirting the bottle onto the hinges and leaving them glistening in the low light, before standing again.

I held my breath as Mitch tied a new rope onto the loop and wedged one side of his crowbar into the crack, using them both at the same time to lever the door up.

The hinges creaked softly, probably so quiet because of the oil Mitch had sprayed onto them, but swung open.

I peered down into the hole but I couldn’t see anything.

Mitch pulled a flashlight from the bag, packing everything back up as he looked around to make sure Sterling’s people weren’t approaching. I assumed they weren’t because he turned the light on ever so slightly.

I stared down into the hole, taking in the rough stone steps, before looking back at Mitch. He met my gaze and gestured at me to stay where I was. I nodded again and he looked away, satisfied, before starting to climb into the hole.

An irrational fear gripped me. I knew it was silly but part of me was worried that he would leave me waiting by the grave and never come back. I clutched the stone edge as he climbed down a few steps. I looked around again as beneath me, Mitch swung the torch from side to side before placing it on the floor and coming back up.

“Alright,” Mitch said quietly before climbing out of the hole. “I want you to come down here and wait on the fourth step down. There are no traps, it’s all safe.”

I nodded and did as he asked, relief washing through me before being replaced by excitement. Despite the balmy weather on the island, underground it was chilled. Everything felt a little too silent, the air a little too stale. My eyes bounced around the thin staircase we were on.

The stairs looked like they had been carved straight out of the light stone that the walls were made of. They were surprisingly smooth and worn but the walls were rougher and coated with cobwebs. I suppressed a shudder as movement caught my eye on the wall and I watched a small light brown spider moving horrifically quickly. It looked scary, despite only being about the size of my little fingernail. Its hairy body was so much larger than its legs and when it slipped into a web-crusted crack in the wall, I breathed a sigh of relief. That feeling didn’t last long though. I turned away from the wall, staring down the staircase, as the sudden realisation that I was most likely surrounded on all sides by spiders hit me.

I couldn't even see the bottom. I could only see a few steps further down from the dim light that Mitch had placed behind me. Just above me, Mitch gently lowered his bag into the hole, letting it rest on the step next to the light before stepping in. He paused, whipping his phone out of his pocket and sending off a quick text before replacing it and starting to close the trap door above us.

Before that moment, I wouldn’t have said that I’d ever experienced claustrophobia. I didn't really understand it. I mean, I hadn't put much thought into it but I just assumed that no one really loved the idea of being trapped in a small space however, as the heavy stone door was closed above us, I felt it for the first time.

It felt like a rope was wrapping around my neck and slowly tightening. Like the air was slowly being sucked out of a room and there was nothing I could do and no way I could fight it. It made me feel light-headed, anxious and dizzy. So nauseous and frantically uncomfortable that I dipped out of the daydream for just long enough to remind myself that I was safe. That, in reality, I was okay.

I was, of course. I wasn't actually trapped in a stone tomb somewhere in Crete, I was in Scotland, at my grandparent’s house. Safe.

I just needed to remind myself that a few times before I felt okay to return to the claustrophobic and scary dream.

“You okay, kid?” Mitch said softly, his voice echoing weirdly.

I blinked a few times to push the dizziness and white spots away from my vision.

The door was shut above us. We were trapped.

The Sterlings could lock us down there and we’d slowly starve to death, if we didn’t suffocate first. We were literally locked inside a grave and there was no escape.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice coming out a little tighter than I wanted it to.

I was safe, I reminded myself. I wasn’t actually there.

“Ah… have I asked you before if you’re claustrophobic?” Mitch asked, a bit of a grimace on his face.

“I don’t think so,” I said, sucking in a deep and slow breath.

“Huh. Probably should have, right?” he said.

I nodded.

He squeezed down the steps past me, stopping just in front of me and standing directly before me. He was bracing himself, I realised, getting ready to catch me if I were to pass out.

“I’m asking now. How do you feel about being underground or in tight spaces?” he asked gently.

I glanced over his head, looking down the stairs which seemed to go deep under the island.

I would not give up now. I wouldn’t be the reason he turned back. This was my fantasy and I was in charge. I wouldn’t be much of a treasure hunter if I couldn’t even go underground.

“I don’t mind them,” I lied determinedly, taking another deep breath and forcing the nausea aside.

But, of course, he saw straight through me.

“Are you sure, kid? I can call Oscar to come and get you. He should be on his way to the island already anyway.”

That surprised me.

“He is?”

“Of course! We can't just leave the door completely uncovered and obvious for anyone to see," Mitch said, making an awful lot of sense. “Oscar comes to help cover up afterwards and then some distraction. You know, trigger a few traps, set off a few tiny bombs. Nothing big enough to send any authorities our way but just enough so that the Sterlings think they've got us. Just enough to distract them.”

I shook my head determinedly.

“No, I want to come with you,” I said.

Mitch smiled, a hint of pride in his eyes, as he reached past me to grab his bag and torch. He turned and started to step down the stairs again before pausing and looking back at me.

“How do you feel about cobwebs?”

The question was unexpected and I wasn't really sure what to say. I blinked and looked at Mitch uncertainly, aware of just how many cobwebs surrounded us.

“Umm… I mean, I don't love them?” I answered, fighting not to glance at them.

“But they don't creep you out too much?” he pressed.

I truly had never thought that much about them until I was under Spinalonga.

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh, fantastic! You'd be surprised how often the stuff is covered in cobwebs. Well, maybe not that surprised. It does make a lot of sense. Often, these places haven’t been touched for years, sometimes centuries. They're abandoned. Left to rot and spiders,” he said, his tone a little too cheerful.

I thought the urge to shudder again, barely managing not to. Maybe they did creep me out.

“Okay, kid. Follow my moves exactly. I don’t believe there will be that many traps on the stairs. I mean, the people living on the island once used this passageway so they needed to make it possible to transverse without too much difficulty. They probably passed the path down from mother to daughter, father to son. Ah, the things parents can teach you,” he mused happily.

There was a moment of silence as he started down the steps, moving slowly and carefully and he clipped the torch onto his shoulder strap as he did.

His words had made my mood a little more sombre than I’d expected. I wasn’t sure what my parents had taught me, not really. I didn't really speak to my mum enough to learn anything from her, even when we were in Scotland. And as for my dad, I wasn't really sure either.

“Sorry,” Mitch said softly, “that was ignorant of me. I know your parents aren’t really around.”

“It’s fine,” I replied, paying almost too much attention to where I was walking in an attempt to ignore all of the negative feelings that were threatening to overwhelm me.

“Not really. If it helps, I grew up in a similar situation to you. My parents, both treasure hunters too but not quite so ethical, stuck me in a care home pretty much as soon as I was born,” he said, his tone light, almost too light.

“Really?” I asked.

I could hear the surprise in my voice but I couldn’t help it.

“Yep. My dad wanted kids but my mom never really did, and as soon as they had me, they realise that a baby didn't really work too great with their careers. I mean, can't exactly bring a kid scuba-diving or skydiving with you, can you? Ah, hold on one sec,” he said, bringing his hand up to stop me.

He scrutinised a hole in the wall that I hadn’t even noticed before stepping back and waving the crowbar in front of it.

Nothing happened.

“Oh, fantastic. Rotted to nothing!” he said cheerfully as he continued down the stairs. “They did come back for me though. Every year or so, in between assignments or missions, they’d come back for a few weeks or sometimes a few months, depending on who was looking for them, and try and teach me some stuff.”

“Is that where you learnt to do all this?” I asked after a pause.

He chuckled softly.

“Kind of,” he said. “When I was about eight or nine, they decided I was old enough to be useful to them. I mean, I dropped out of school and started getting in trouble with the law around that time so I could have brought attention to them if they left me there. They taught me the basics, what to look for, which rumours to listen to and which are intentionally trying to trick you but… I didn’t stay with them for that long.”

“You didn’t?” I asked.

“Nah, even as a kid, I knew their views were… wrong. There was a lot they did and said that I wasn’t happy with. I never really enjoyed treasure hunting when I was with them. For them, it was all about making the most money. They didn't care about information or the history of anything, unless it was relevant and could be sold or utilised in some way.”

He shook his head sadly.

There was something so fascinating about him and his history. His parents seemed so self-absorbed, so similar to my mom almost. It gave me hope. It almost made me think that I might be able to do something with my life.

“Do you enjoy it now?” I asked.

I needed to know. I wasn’t really sure why but something had compelled me to ask. It was almost like I knew if he did, if he was truly happy, I could be too one day?

“Of course, I do! I wouldn’t keep doing it if I didn’t,” he said, gesturing for me to stop before bending down to fiddle with a loose stone on the steps. “I have a lot of regrets for what I did when I was part of the Sterlings. That lot kills too easily, they don’t care about preservation or saving anything for future generations. They’re happy to destroy and ruin and leave people entirely defenceless but… they also do a lot of things right. I learnt a lot with them.”

I watched his back as he pulled the stone up and examined the device below, muttering under his breath.

“Do you… can I help?” I asked after a moment as he pulled a pair of tweezers from one of the pockets on his vest.

“Nah, you’re good, kid. Ideally, I’d like to keep you as far away from any explosives as possible until you’re happy and comfortable with them,” he replied. “Especially one like this. It’s been protected from the weather for a long time, unlike that one in Edinburgh. Some moisture might have found its way in but… it’s most likely still in one piece.”

I hesitated for a moment before asking, “Do you ever really get happy and comfortable with explosives?”

Mitch leant back and laughed.

“Alright, maybe happy wasn’t the right word. You get more comfortable with them but I generally think is good to not completely let your guard down. That is a recipe for disaster and missing limbs.”

“Missing limbs?” I asked, fighting the urge to clamber back up the stairs and far away from whatever explosive device Mitch was fiddling with.

“Yeah, it’s fairly normal in this line of work. I’ve been pretty lucky, the worst I’ve done is lose the tip of this finger and my little finger doesn’t bend properly anymore,” he said, holding his left hand up.

I looked at his hand in the torchlight. I’d never noticed it before but the ring finger on his left hand was shorter than it should have been. It wasn’t that obvious but once he’d pointed it out, I couldn’t unsee it. He flexed his hand, curling it into a fist but his little finger didn’t cooperate. It bent slightly but not fully.

“What—” I started to ask.

“Oh, it’s a long and nasty story. It’s fine though, don’t cause me too much hassle unless I gotta punch a lot of people with that hand for some reason and then it likes to dislocate itself.”

His tone was so easygoing but I couldn’t stare at his hand in horror. I wanted to know what happened and how he could be so blasé about it but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.

He was silent for a little longer as he alternated between rooting around in his bag and doing something to the device on the floor. I watched, not quite able to see what he was doing around him and unsure what else to do or say. He’d said that he didn’t need my help but I felt so useless just standing there and watching.

“Alright, that should do it. Here, take my hand and hop over that step,” he said, replacing the stone before standing and climbing down a couple of steps.

I took his outstretched hand and gingerly stretched downwards, avoiding the step that he’d been working on.

“What did you do?” I asked, glancing back at it.

“Just primed it again, in case anyone follows us. Here, let me leave a marker. Lauren and Oscar shouldn’t follow us down here and we won’t be coming back this way so we’ll be fine but still.”

He squeezed past me and grabbed a stone from the floor. He scrapped it along the wall, clearing away some cobwebs and leaving behind a white cast on the rough walls.

It didn’t feel like enough.

“Will that—” I started to ask.

“Be enough?” Mitch finished the sentence for me. “Oh, yeah. We’ve been working together for years; they know what to look out for.”

I swallowed and continued following him down the stairs in silence but I couldn’t stop thinking about the bomb. What if it wasn’t eough? What if they didn’t see it or if they were rushing? Then what?

“What would happen,” I asked, “if they did trigger it?”

Mitch grinned back at me.

“Don’t worry, kid, I’m not like the Sterlings. It’s just a flash bang. Granted, a very loud and powerful one, but nonlethal.”

That made relief wash through me.

“Oh, good,” I breathed.

“Yeah. I’d rather not kill people if I have the option. I mean, the Sterlings, as dickish as they all are, they're mostly just dumb kids. They prey on the young, vulnerable and intelligent but not wise. They offer a home, a job and a community to the people who need it most. They don’t deserve to die,” he said softly.

I’d never thought about it like that.

I didn’t really know anything about them but part of me understood why someone would sign up. I think, in real life, if someone offered me an escape like that, I probably would have taken it too.

“Ah, look at what we’ve got here,” Mitch said, his voice dancing with excitement.

I looked around him at the brick wall at the bottom of the stairs. It was a dead end, nothing more.

“Did we choose the wrong grave?” I asked, feeling an undercurrent of fear start to thrum within me.

I really didn’t want to go back to the surface. Oscar might have already re-covered the trap door and then we’d be stuck.

“Not at all,” Mitch said and I could hear the happiness in his words. “It’s a fake wall.”