I descended the steps carefully, following them as they turned a sharp corner. The walls were rough stone and the ceiling overhead was shaped like an inverted V, narrow at the top and sloping out to meet the walls. There wasn’t much head room—Rafael had to walk with his shoulders hunched to avoid banging his head. The air smelled of dust—and strangely, of plastic—and the temperature dropped steadily as we descended. After the heat of our climb up the steps outside, it was downright chilly. I shivered and zipped up my jacket. Above us, I heard the trap door slide back into place and Águila’s footsteps behind Rafael. Even with my cyberear’s amplification system I couldn’t hear much more than a murmur of voices below as the rebels, who had descended more quickly than us, exchanged greetings with someone. The sound was muffled, as if by a closed door.