Allison's POV.
The pizza restaurant on the corner of 5th and Main was unassuming, a small family-run joint with faded red-and-white checkered tablecloths and the smell of fresh dough wafting from the kitchen. The neon sign flickered in the evening light, showing a glow on the sidewalk. It was the perfect cover.
Inside, families laughed over shared pies, and the staff moved around, attending to tables. But it wasn’t the pizza that drew me here tonight. I made my way to the back of the restaurant, past the kitchen, where a nondescript door led to a hidden elevator. I glanced over my shoulder, making sure I wasn’t being followed, before stepping inside.
As the lift descended, the atmosphere changed. The hum of the restaurant above faded, replaced by the low thrum of anticipation. The elev
