A Bullet, A Knife, And A Lot Of Blood
The minute hand was completing its sixtieth turn around the twelve digits as Falcon got up, glancing at it to confirm the time.
Scarlet had left the ladder dangling, the loose rungs dipping in the soft breeze that escaped from the trapdoor. The key was freezing cold as if it had been crafted with ice.
Falcon placed his foot on the lowest rung, testing the ladder to see if it would hold his weight. The ladder dipped but held as he climbed smoothly, reaching the top in seconds. Below, Cyan whooped, clapping loudly as Falcon twisted the key in the lock, and the trapdoor opened. He moved it towards the outside, a stinky breeze hitting his face as soon as he did. He slithered out, his movements graceful as a cat, and motioned for Cyan to come up.