We move.
Left, then right. Past containment rooms. Biohazard wards. Everything pristine and horrific in its silence. The kind of place where people disappear and data becomes destiny.
She stops at a reinforced door.
“This is it,” she says. “Mainframe access is behind that.”
“You sure?”
“I saw the plans.”
I reach for the panel. She stops me with a hand on my arm.
“Kenron...”
It’s the first time she’s said my name since the letter.
I freeze.
She doesn’t pull back. “I didn’t expect you to come.”
“I didn’t plan to.”
“Then why?—”
“Because you shouldn’t have to face this alone.”
Her eyes flash. “I was the one who?—”
“Don’t.”
She flinches.
“I read the letter. You were wrong. But now you’re right. And that matters more.”
A beat of silence.
Then she nods.
“After this, we burn everything,” she says.
“Start with their data. Work our way up to their lies.”
I rip open the panel and get to work.
We fall into rhythm—cutting cables, rerouting feeds, jamming internal alerts. She pulls a shard from her coat—data crystal, pulsing soft blue.
“Everything I found,” she whispers. “Proof.”
I take it. Slot it into the reader. Let it sync.
Names. Codes. Locations. Directive Echelon in black and white.
“Holy hell,” I breathe. “They’re farther along than we thought.”
“Which is why we can’t stop now.”
The door hisses open.
