“Then pull us back,” I reply.
She studies me for a moment, then nods.
“Dadams,” she says. “We start there.”
“Yeah.”
“We track his movements, his access points, his connections,” she continues.
“And we stay quiet,” I add.
“Exactly.”
The silence that follows holds steady, grounded in purpose now instead of tension.
She holds my gaze for a moment longer, then steps back slightly.
“Next shift,” she says. “We move.”
“I’ll be there,” I reply.
“I know you will.”
That lands differently than it used to.
She turns to leave, her posture snapping back into controlled precision as she moves down the corridor.
“Jolie,” I call.
She stops, her shoulders tightening slightly, but she doesn’t turn fully.
“What?” she asks.
I watch her for a moment, weighing the words before I let them go.
“You can keep saying it changes nothing,” I say, my voice low, “but you’re still here.”
Her posture stills for just a fraction of a second.
“That’s because we’re not done,” she replies.
“No,” I say. “We’re not.”
CHAPTER 17
JOLIE
The corridor outside Dadams’ sector feels wrong the second I step into it, and the difference presses against my skin before I can name it. The air runs colder here, scrubbed clean of the usual grit and metallic tang, and the overhead lights burn steady and bright instead of flickering, casting sharp illumination that flattens depth and leaves nowhere for shadows to settle unless they are deliberately carved out. My boots land softer against the polished flooring, the sound dampened in a way that feels engineered, and even my breathing seems louder than it should be.
I slow before the final turn, raising a hand slightly to signal Hrask without looking at him. My eyes track the corridor ahead, following the clean lines of the walls, the sealed access panel at the far end, the faint disturbance along its edge that shouldn’t be there.
“You see it?” I murmur, keeping my voice low as I lean just enough to catch the angle.
Hrask shuffles beside me, close enough that the fabric of his sleeve brushes mine as he adjusts his stance. He tilts his head slightly, narrowing his gaze toward the panel.
“Yeah,” he says under his breath, his tone flattening into focus. “Seal’s been disturbed. Recently.”
I nod once, keeping my movements minimal.
