Milan — Underground tunnels
The air inside the tunnel was suffocating, thick with ancient dust and fear.
Vera gripped Luca tightly, supporting his weight as they stumbled through the cracked concrete corridor.
Behind them, the sound of footsteps and shouting grew closer with every second.
— Faster! — Enzo hissed ahead of them, his small, flickering flashlight barely lighting the way.
The tunnel seemed endless.
The walls dripped with filthy water.
Rats darted through the shadows.
The stench of old oil and rust burned their nostrils.
Vera's heart pounded like a war drum in her chest.
Luca, though weak, never let go of her hand.
His eyes, though exhausted, still burned with something Vera recognized:
the will to live.
Enzo stopped abruptly at a fork in the tunnel.
— Left or right? — he asked, urgency cutting through his voice.
Vera closed her eyes for a second, trusting her instinct.
— Right.
They ran.
The uneven ground made every step a battle not to fall.
Gunfire echoed behind them — louder now.
A bullet ricocheted off the right wall, spraying bits of concrete into the air.
Enzo cursed but didn't stop.
Far ahead, a faint light filtered down through a hatch in the ceiling.
— There! — he shouted.
With the last of their strength, they reached the hatch.
It was old, rusted, but still movable.
Enzo and another fighter pried it open while Vera shielded Luca with her body.
A screech of metal ripped through the air.
The hatch gave way — and a gust of polluted but blessedly fresh air rushed into the tunnel.
Vera looked at Luca and smiled.
— Almost there — she whispered.
But footsteps still thundered behind them.
And freedom, like everything else in this city, would have to be won inch by bloody inch.