A dull snare drum kick-starts in my chest as I trip over my feet to jog-walk. Chang trails behind me, satisfied to observe and make sure I don’t bash my head against a wall, until I slide to the ground and shimmy through the rock cleft. Her protests stop dead as I rise to stand inside a long tunnel shaft, pitch-black. Chang doesn’t follow; she barks into another opening in the wall above, keeping me in sight and pleading for me to come back. I’m fumbling for my flashlight as the sound of movement stops me cold.

My fingers grapple for wall, rock—something to give me a sense of my inky surroundings—when a strong, bony hand clamps down on mine. I suck in a breath to scream, but another hand grips my face and yanks me farther into the shaft. It covers my mouth, seizing my jaw with such force tears pierce my eyes. I fumble with the flashlight button, then shine it in the eyes of my attacker, who doesn’t flinch.

Dirt covers porcelain skin. Dust mars the apples of cheeks that haven’t seen the sun in days. Disheveled dark hair forms a skewed halo around a head otherwise my height. Brown eyes contract like angry, light-averse rats. Frenzy and fear leap out from wide sockets, while my sister’s vise grip on my hand remains white-knuckle strong.

Despite my muzzle, I manage, “Angela . . . ?” before she grabs the flashlight and puts it in her pocket. The tunnel returns to darkness.

“Twin for the win.” Her whisper cracks.

“Shayna? Are you okay? Who’s there?” Chang calls. Her flashlight shines on our two pairs of feet, and Angela recoils from me.

“You brought someone?”

“I had to. I didn’t know anything about the catacombs. You’re . . . you’re alive!”

Chang sputters from the hall. “What?”

Angela grips my hand again. “We have to get out of here.” She turns to the main path and begins speaking beautiful French to Chang, too fast for me to comprehend. The aria of her words is matched only by her perfect accent after three years here. Her shoulders straighten, and she waves a hand from her right hip, a stance I’ve seen her use in restaurants to get a dish taken off our check. My sister, the charming twin, even a building’s length underground and weeks since her last bath. Angela chuckles, but Chang only nods. Angela makes another fluid gesture with her hand, then turns back to me in the dark.

“I told her this is a hide-and-seek game we play in different countries, and I was never missing. The police were confused. Get rid of her,” she hisses. Dirt covers her blue hoodie and jeans. Only the tongues of her sneakers are still white.

“Gel, what exactly is going on? What happened?” I throw my arms around her, but she stiffens.