Undercover Hate

Chapter Twenty-Five: I Came, I Saw, I Did Absolutely Nothing

Our only shot at getting to the tunnels lies somewhere in the Egyptian exhibit. The thought sends a pulse of urgency through me. If we can just reach the hidden entrance, we might slip past the security guards and into the Louvre tunnels. But as we burst into the exhibit, the beautiful displays of ancient artifacts feel more like an elaborate maze than a sanctuary. The entrance is somewhere in here, I'm sure of it, but finding it is another story entirely.

"Where the hell is it?" Ace mutters, scanning the room. His frustration echoes my own. I bite my lip, willing the thoughts to coalesce. It's supposed to be hidden in a corner, concealed behind a pillar. But where? My eyes dart around, searching for that elusive escape. My heart races not just from the fear of being caught, but from the physical toll of our desperate sprint.

"There!" I shout, pointing toward a shadowed area near a towering pillar. "It has to be there!" But as we approach, the reality of the small door hits me. It's barely noticeable, almost as if the museum wants to keep it a secret. It's going to take more than just pushing on it; I'll have to shove myself into the opening. My body tenses at the thought, but I push through.

"I'll do it," I insist, shoving Ace aside. "Just stay back." I know he wants to help, but I can't let him take over. I need to prove I can do this, even as the doubts claw at my mind.

"Adriana, wait!" He calls after me, but I don't listen. I bend low, inching toward the door, my heart pounding in my ears. The cold, stone wall presses against my back as I shove myself into the narrow crevice.

Pain shoots through me as I force my body through, scraping my shoulder and twisting my ankle at an awkward angle. I gasp, falling backward onto the hard floor, my heart racing in panic. The sharp ache radiates from my ankle, making me want to cry out, but I swallow the sound, not wanting to show weakness.

"Goddammit!" Ace kneels beside me, concern etched on his face. "I told you I could handle it!" He looks frustrated, but there's something deeper in his eyes, a flicker of care that I can't ignore.

"It doesn't matter," I retort, gritting my teeth against the pain. "Just let me try again."

"Adriana, you're injured!" he insists, urgency coloring his voice. "You need to let me do this."

But I can't let him take my place. The thought makes my heart twist uncomfortably. I shake my head, stubbornness pushing me forward. "No, I can do this. Just give me a minute."

"I don't have a minute!" he snaps back, frustration bubbling to the surface. But instead of giving in, he reaches for my arm and pulls me to my feet.

"I'm opening it!" Ace steps forward, determination replacing his anger. I watch, helpless, as he approaches the hidden entrance. He tries to pry it open, but the door resists, and I can see the muscles in his arms straining with effort.

"Stop!" I plead, the worry spilling from my lips. "We can find another way. We don't have to do this!"

"No!" He grits his teeth, pushing harder against the door. "We're doing this." His persistence is admirable, but I can't shake the feeling that he's only putting himself in harm's way. I feel my chest tighten with helplessness as he fights against the door, every push sending tremors of pain through him. I want to scream, to pull him away from the madness, but my voice is lost in the chaos.

"I don't care if it takes longer, just—"

"Shut up, Adriana!" He growls, his frustration palpable. The tension hangs between us like a heavy fog, yet beneath it all, I can see how hard he's trying. I want to reach out, to help him, but all I can do is stand there, feeling weak and useless.