Access granted.
The door unsealed with a hiss, releasing a breath of cold, recycled air thick with the scent of sealed plastic and scorched electronics. Beyond it, the corridor was dim—lit only by emergency strips that flickered like distant stars. The kind of hallway designed to hide secrets, not reveal them.
Lucas stepped through like he owned the place.
He moved with the quiet confidence of a man who'd read the script before the actors arrived.
Ava followed, silent, one hand grazing the griping a bio pistol in her pocket. But she didn't draw—not yet. Lucas hadn't order her to act. That meant it wasn't time.
They rounded the first corner—and a guard stepped into view.
Lucas moved before the man could breathe.
A flick of his wrist. A whisper of pressure.
The dart hit the guard's neck with the subtle grace of falling ash.
The man blinked—once.
Then collapsed, silently, his weapon sliding from his hand without a sound.
Ava's eyes widened slightly. "Darts?"
