A slab of wood lay open on one hinge, leading to an underground space. From what she could tell, it looked like a root cellar—the kind that merchants or farmers stored food and produce in to keep them cool. She could hide in there. The streets were deserted and quiet, but beyond this residential-looking square, the area opened up into the docks and that would be much too exposed for her liking.

No, she had to hide here and pray for some luck. Running toward the opening that some good soul had forgotten to close, she climbed down the crude, uneven steps and pulled the door shut, enclosing herself in darkness but for a meager sliver of light through the crack. Bronwyn tried to ease her breaths as best as she could, the panting sounds sawing through her throat loud and harsh in the quiet. She dug in her pockets for the pistol she carried, feeling its comforting weight in her palm. At least, she was armed. The small weapon was only good for one shot, but she’d make it count if she had to.

It would have been so easy to shoot the man in the tavern, and she had almost done so, but getting arrested and detained was not part of the plan. Not while she didn’t know who she could trust. The sound of clopping footsteps echoed beyond the doors, and Bronwyn held her breath. There had to be at least two men from the number of footfalls. Maybe more. They went past as she had hoped they would, but she didn’t move. Not yet. It was a good thing she waited, too, because those same treads returned, only slower. Bronwyn strained her ears, wishing she could see, but she didn’t dare move.

“Come out, li’l darlin’,” a gravelly voice called out much too close to her hiding spot. “We won’t hurt you.”

“She’s gone, Carl.”

“Little bunny was fast.”

Raucous laughter rung out. “You’re just too fecking slow.”

The second voice sounded garbled. There were a few scuffling sounds and then the scent of cigarette smoke wafted inside. They had to be close if she could smell it through the doors. Goodness, her legs were beginning to cramp. Bronwyn inched forward slightly, shifting the pressure off her thighs, but it sent a small scatter of gravel down the stairs that sounded like gunshots to her ears. She held her breath.

“Did you hear that, Ralphie?”

“Fecking rats.”

“Let’s head back. Larry and Frank went the other way.”