“It’s ok. I mean, I’d like to think you’d trust my expertise, but come here. I’ll show you.”

Instead of leading Somers into the darkness of the sub-basement, though, he took Somers back to the entrance and pointed above the door. A bouquet of grenades hung there; they had escaped Somers’s notice because they were hung high and in the shadows.

“Jesus Christ, Nico, don’t—”

Nico grabbed a grenade and yanked. A pin came loose.

Somers grabbed the younger man, barreling for the doorway, when he felt the bundle of grenades slap against his back. A hollow, plastic slap.

Nico grinned and held out the pin.

“Holy shit,” Somers said.

“I told you.”

“Holy shit,” Somers said, sagging against the limestone. “I think I just shat myself.”

“If you’d listened—”

Somers fixed him with a glare.

“Ok,” Nico said, holding up both hands, the pin still hanging from one finger. “I will explain in advance next time.”

Fake cameras. Fake explosives. It almost had a haunted house feel. More importantly, though, it felt familiar, and he was trying to figure out where he had experienced this before. Mikey Grames and the Haverford? No, not quite, although the Haverford had been a nightmare warren of traps and dead ends. Where, then?

“I’m going to check out those other cameras,” Somers said. “And see if there’s another exit.”

Nico caught his arm; he was staring at the ground. “Don’t—don’t leave me here, please. I honestly think I will bash my brains out if I have to be alone again.”

“Yeah,” Somers said. “Ok.”

Nico’s hand slid down, and he laced his fingers through Somers’s. He looked up, his eyes pleading.

Somers grinned and squeezed once.

“Don’t you dare tell Emery about this,” Nico said.

“I was going to suggest the same thing.”

“I’m serious, John-Henry. Not a word.”

“I kind of think I’m the one with more to worry about.”

Nico sniffed. “You don’t understand anything, then.”

Rather than engage with that, Somers turned and moved deeper into the sub-basement. The ceiling brushed the top of his head, and from time to time he’d bump an uneven spot on the stone, so he had to hunch slightly, and an ache was already building in his lower back. The farther he moved into the basement, the more he relied on touch, until he could see nothing ahead of him except the flashing red lights of fake cameras. His steps slowed, and he felt ahead with his feet, not trusting the slight irregularities in the flooring. When he reached the opening to one of the cells that divided up the space, it was like falling: he had nothing to hold on to, nothing to guide him except those blinking red lights, and he’d stumble those few steps, hand slapping the air, until he caught hold of the wall again. He knew, at a distant level, that this was panicked behavior, but that part of him was so far off that it didn’t matter. The only thing that was real was Nico’s hand in his, and Nico’s other hand like a patch of sunlight on his shoulder.