The stronghold’s corridors had shifted from sterile metallic order to chaos, a storm contained in steel and shadows. Sparks flew from broken panels, alarms screamed in jagged symphonies, and the faint scent of smoke clung to the air like a lingering threat. Justina moved deliberately, every step calculated, every breath a battle between instinct and fear.

Carson followed closely, the faint brush of his hand against hers a grounding anchor amid the turmoil. His eyes were sharp, unwavering, ...