“…the Ignatovs built an empire on lies,” Anton’s voice booms, except—
It doesn’t sound the same as it did before, when he was cackling and murmuring to himself like a crackhead. His words no longer drift but are projected.
That’s what this is. He’s using the old PA channels.
The tunnels vibrate faintly with his voice.
“…and now? You inherit the curse.”
He’s everywhere and nowhere at once.
Harper’s eyes look like two huge holes in a skull. She presses her palm briefly to the wall, grounding herself in thesolidness of it. But the wall trembles faintly beneath her touch, and she jerks her hand back.
The infrastructure is too unstable.
A cold thread pulls tight in my chest.
Fuck, was this guy prepared.Anton didn’t flee blindly, no, he’s been putting on an act and leading us deeper, drawing us into the belly of the complex.
Towards what? Are there any more grim surprises that should make things even worse?
We push forward, turning into a lower corridor where the lights have mostly died. Only the emergency strips glow dim red, painting the hall like the inside of an artery.
“That hum,” Harper murmurs. “It’s stronger here.”
She’s right. The air buzzes with static, as if every molecule is vibrating just out of sync with itself. It’s the smell that alarms me most—burned insulation, a faint acrid bite.
This damn smell… where have I smelled that before?
Aha.During controlled demolitions and failures. During overloads.
It snaps into place so fast I go lightheaded.
The servers.
The mainframe should be on standalone cooling. The power load should be regulated. The hum shouldn’t feel like a creature straining against chains.
Unless someone rewired it on purpose.Unless the servers are the chains.
It’s a kill-switch, terror numbs my body as I realize.A detonator.
Anton didn’t just come down here to hide, he came to wipe the slate clean. Every file, every archived confession, everysurveillance capture that could clear Harper’s name or damn the people who used her.
He’s going to erase the truth, and us, as collateral damage.
“Damian?” Harper’s voice is softer than before, frayed. “What is it?”
“We need to keep moving.”
With my knuckles white around hers, I guide her faster down the corridor. The floor vibrates in uneven pulses, the way a foundation does when too much power runs through its veins.
We round a final bend, and the tunnel widens abruptly into the main chamber.
The arching concrete ribs, cables coiled like black serpents over the ceiling make it look like a cathedral gutted by industry. And in the center, behind a fractured pane of reinforced glass, the master server hums with the intensity of a caged star. Every unit glows feverishly, pulsing in a dangerous rhythm.
Harper’s hand falling limp in mine makes me follow her line of sight.
He emerges from the shadows like a warning unspooling—clothes dust-stained, one sleeve soaked in blood that doesn’t look fresh. Anton stands on the far side of the chamber. His eyes shine too brightly, the way a man’s do when he’s convinced he’s already dying.
