The corridor narrowed as Carson and Justina walked deeper, the floor vibrating beneath their steps with the low hum of machinery waking from decades of forced sleep. The air grew colder, not warmer, strange and considering the inferno they had just escaped. Here, the fire wasn’t physical.

It was psychological.

Lights flickered in long, stuttering intervals, revealing walls lined with sleek metal panels and embedded projectors, old technology Carson recognized instantly. The kind his father ...