“Command pushed updated access protocols,” he says. “Restricted zones expanded.”
I rest my hand lightly against the edge of the console, leaning just enough to see the data he references without making it obvious.
“Expanded how?” I ask.
“Layered clearance,” he replies. “Additional verification on all lower-level access points.”
I nod, masking the reaction as routine acknowledgment.
“Since when?”
“Within the last hour,” he says.
That timing lines up too clean to be coincidence.
I straighten, letting my hand fall away from the console.
“Got it,” I say, turning toward the exit before the conversation can deepen.
The door slides open, and the corridor air meets me again, but it feels tighter now, more controlled, like the system itself has shifted into a higher state of awareness.
“They’re locking it down,” I murmur, my voice low.
The realization settles into something heavier as I move, because I know exactly what triggered it, and I know who is still out there when the system starts closing ranks.
Jolie.
Alone.
Still pushing.
My steps slow before I consciously decide to stop, the motion stalling mid-stride as the thought locks into place with sharp clarity. The corridor stretches ahead of me, empty for the moment, but the silence feels loaded, like it is waiting for a decision I already made.
“She’s going to get caught,” I say quietly, the certainty in the statement leaving no room for doubt.
I glance back over my shoulder, my gaze tracing the path I took from the lower levels, mapping the distance between where I stand and where she likely is now. My hand flexes slightly at my side, fingers tightening before I force them to relax.
“You could still go,” I mutter, the thought pushing forward before I can stop it.
The words hang in the air for a second, and I let them sit there long enough to feel their weight before I shake my head once, sharper this time.
“No,” I say, more firmly.
I turn forward again, forcing my body back into motion, pushing past the hesitation before it can take hold.
“You don’t get to change it now,” I continue under my breath. “You made the call.”
The memory of her standing in front of me surfaces uninvited, the sharpness of her voice, the certainty in herposture, the way she did not hesitate when she said she would do it without me.
“That wasn’t a bluff,” I say quietly, the realization settling deeper.
I move through the corridors with more purpose now, forcing my attention onto the structure around me instead of the direction I am not taking. The patrol route pulls me toward the upper perimeter, closer to the border sectors, and the environment shifts again as the barrier comes into range.
The air carries a faint static charge here, the energy from the fence humming low and constant, and the smell of scorched dust lingers where the field meets the ground. Guards stand along the line with tighter spacing, their posture more rigid than usual, their attention sharpened into something that feels closer to readiness than routine.
I step into position without drawing attention, aligning myself with the patrol line as if nothing has changed, even though everything has shifted beneath the surface.
“You’re late,” one of the guards mutters beside me, adjusting his stance.
