I look up, willing my wide eyes to reflect innocence. “Why should I tell you?”

“Because it’s the polite thing to do.” He steps toward me, blocking the altar steps.

“All’s fair in love and war, my friend.” Shrugging, I tuck the scroll into my pocket.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Then you’ve been living underground for too long.” Plotting my escape, I gauge my chances of squeezing past him.

“I wasn’t talking about fairness,” he says. “I don’t believe we’re friends.”

Only half listening, I contemplate a plan. I need to catch him off guard…

My back warms to a presence behind me. Kyran. I spin around, catching his wrist just as his hand enters my pocket. He’s quick, but I’m quicker. Unfortunately, I’m no match for his strength. He grabs me with his free hand, twisting my arm around my back. Hot pain shoots to my shoulder until I’m sure my bones will splinter. He reaches into my pocket and takes the scroll.

“Let her go.” Garrett charges Kyran, sending me sprawling to the floor. My elbow cracks against the floor, but I scramble to regain my footing.

Garrett pushes Kyran against a glass case, one hand on his throat while the other fights for the scroll.

Frozen, I stare, but then my instincts kick in. Move. The path to the gate is clear, and I have all the information I need, even if I don’t know where I’m headed. I sprint toward the altar steps, but Garrett’s voice stops me in my tracks.

“Do you always leave a calling card, rookie?”

Kyran grabs hold of Garrett and spins them both around, but he doesn’t have the upper hand for long. Garrett’s reaction is instant; he kicks and knocks Kyran’s legs out from under him before throwing a punch into his gut. Crumpling into a ball, Kyran drops the scroll.

Garrett retrieves the clue and quickly reads it. “Are you trying to take credit?” His lungs are heaving, and his words are directed at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply, hoping my voice doesn’t reveal the quaking inside me. What is he talking about?

Kyran regains his composure and grabs the scroll out of Garrett’s hand. Shoving past me down the altar steps, his retreating footsteps echo across the stone floor.

Garrett takes off running, too, but in the opposite direction, throwing open a sarcophagus on the other side of the room. “Your canteen. It has your initials on it,” he says before disappearing into what must be the entrance to his secret passageway.

Closing my eyes, I groan.

Hands shaking, I have no choice but to break into the glass case again. Retrieving my canteen, I replace it with the battery, cursing Garrett’s head start. He played me.