The church basement looked different in daylight.Not that there was much daylight down here. Just thin streams coming through the high window wells. Enough to see by. Enough to navigate the cluttered space.But different. Less safe somehow. Less hidden.Sarah pushed the thought away. This was what they had. Would have to be enough.She helped Marcus get Torres down the stairs. Slow. Careful. Each step making Torres wince. His face getting whiter with each descent.By the bottom, he was barely conscious. Just hanging between them. Dead weight.They laid him on the floor. On a pile of old donated blankets Sarah had found in a corner. Not comfortable. But better than concrete.Torres's breathing was shallow again. Fast. The exertion had taken its toll. Reopened the wound partially. Fresh blood staining the makeshift bandage."We need real medical supplies," Marcus said. Looking at the wound. At Torres. "This isn't going to hold much longer. He needs a hospital.""Hospital means police.

The first hour passed slowly.Sarah sat near the basement window. The high one that let in thin streams of daylight. She could see a sliver of street from here. Sidewalk. Passing feet. Cars occasionally.Normal city activity. People going about their lives. Completely unaware that three fugitives and a hostage were hiding fifteen feet below them.She checked her watch. 11:47 AM.Two hours and thirteen minutes until the drop.Sarah's body ached. Everything hurt. Her legs. Her back. Her shoulders. Days of running. Days of stress. Days of surviving on adrenaline and willpower.The crash was coming. She could feel it. That deep exhaustion that went beyond physical. That touched something fundamental. Something that couldn't be fixed with sleep or food or rest.But she couldn't crash yet. Had to stay alert. Had to keep moving. Had to see this through.Across the basement, Marcus was with Torres. Checking vitals. Adjusting the bandage. Keeping the young man stable.Torres was awake now. Luc