“Still works,” I murmur.
The layout unfolds in my head as I move, mapping connections, predicting routes, and I angle toward the outer maintenance paths instead of the main corridors.
“You don’t exit where they expect,” I say under my breath. “You exit where they forgot to look.”
The hum shifts again as I move deeper, the systems layering differently, and I catch it—the faint disruption in the pattern that doesn’t belong to standard operation.
“Jolie,” I murmur.
It’s subtle.
But it’s there.
Movement that doesn’t match patrol rhythm.
Disruption that isn’t mechanical.
“You didn’t stay put,” I say, something tightening in my chest that I don’t bother unpacking.
Of course she didn’t.
I change direction immediately, cutting across the corridor instead of following the exit path I’d mapped out.
“You’re heading inward,” I mutter. “Not out.”
The realization lands fast.
“Dadams,” I say.
I pick up speed.
Ignoring the safer route.
Ignoring the clean exit.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “You went for leverage.”
The corridors tighten again, the air colder here, sharper, and I push through it, tracking the subtle signs of movement that don’t belong to anyone else.
“You’re not quiet when you’re moving fast,” I mutter. “Not in this condition.”
A flicker of motion ahead.
I slow.
Just enough.
Voices.
Close.
“…this won’t work,” someone says.
“…it’s already working,” another replies.
I know both of them.
“Of course,” I murmur.
