“Still got a plan?”
“Always.”
“Good.”
I take a steady breath and step forward toward the final stage of the challenge.
CHAPTER 32
BRON
Something feels wrong.
Not in the usual way, either—not in thewe are about to be chased by a building-sized predator and that is objectively a poor life choicekind of wrong. I’m familiar with that flavor of chaos. I thrive in it. It’s practically my brand.
This is different.
Quieter.
Colder.
It slips in under the noise of the crowd and the thunder of machinery, like a bad note in a song only I can hear.
“Tilda,” I murmur, keeping my voice low as we slow near the final stage threshold.
She doesn’t look at me, eyes locked on the terrain ahead, calculating angles and timing like she’s solving a particularly violent equation.
“Yeah?”
“Something’s off.”
“That narrows it down,” she says dryly.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She glances up at the containment wall running alongside us, her expression sharpening.
The barrier hums with energy, a deep vibrating thrum that you feel in your teeth more than hear with your ears. Behind it, the proto-beast paces, its massive form shifting in restless, agitated arcs. Each step it takes sends a faint tremor through the reinforced ground.
But it’s not just the creature.
It’s the guards.
I squint toward the elevated security platform near the containment controls.
“See that?” I ask.
Tilda follows my gaze.
“Yeah,” she says slowly.
“Why are there only two guards up there?”
“There were four during the briefing.”
“Exactly.”
