The entrance to the smuggling tunnel was a gaping maw in the cliffside, hidden behind a thick curtain of ivy and rotting driftwood.
The ocean crashed violently against the rocks below, the spray coating us in a freezing mist.
"Charming," Sienna muttered, adjusting the strap of her Gucci crossbody bag, which looked ridiculous next to the tactical flashlight she was holding. "I can't believe I'm risking a fractured ankle for a seat on the Council."
"You're risking it for immunity," Cassian corrected, checking the magazine of his rifle. He looked at me. "Stay between me and Rook. Do not touch the walls. Do not touch the floor unless we step there first."
"I know the drill," I whispered, clutching my 9mm. My heart was pounding, but it was a steady rhythm now. I was getting used to the fear.
Rook took point. He activated night-vision goggles, scanning the dark tunnel ahead. He signed: 'Clear.'
We moved in.
