PROJECT PROMETHEUS - RESTRICTED
“Bayo,” I breathe. “Are you seeing this?”
“I see it.” His voice has gone tight. “That’s the program Kapoor was investigating before he disappeared. Can you get anything else? Documents, files, anything with that name on it?”
I scan the workstations. One of the techs has a folder open on her screen—schematics of some kind, too far away to read clearly. The other is running what looks like diagnostic software, lines of code scrolling past.
The siphon’s indicator light blinks green. Download complete.
“I’ve got what I can get,” I say, pocketing the device. “Time to go.”
“Yep. Guard’s heading back your way. Sixty seconds, maybe less.”
I move for the door, but one of the techs chooses that moment to stand—stretching, turning toward the coffee machine in the corner.
Toward me.
I freeze.
She’s three meters away, her back to the servers, reaching for a mug. If she turns her head even slightly?—
She doesn’t. She pours her coffee, mutters something to her colleague, and sits back down.
I slip through the doors and into the corridor, heart hammering.
“That was close,” Bayo says.
“When isn’t it?” I mutter.
I’m halfway to the service stairs when I hear the footsteps coming, heavy, purposeful, from the direction I need to go. It’s the guard, returning faster than expected, and, from the sound of it, he’s not alone.
“He’s got company,” I whisper.
“I see them on thermal. Three bodies, heading your way. Is there another exit?”
I scan the corridor. Storage rooms, all of them locked. No windows, no vents or spaces large enough to crawl through.
The footsteps are getting closer.
Think, Mia. Think.
There’s a door to my left—unmarked, no keypad. I try the handle. Unlocked. I slip inside and find myself in what looks like a maintenance closet filled with mops, buckets, and industrial cleaning supplies. The smell of bleach burns my nostrils.
I press myself against the wall behind the door, controlling my breathing, and wait.
The footsteps pass. Voices discussing the false alarm in tones of professional annoyance. They don’t stop, don’t check the closet. Clearly, they didn’t think the false alarm was worth getting worked up about. That’s what you hope for in missions like this, that you’re dealing with people who want to clock in and clock out, who aren’t about to go above and beyond for their job.
I count to thirty after the voices fade then ease the door open.
The corridor is empty.
“Clear,” I murmur.
“Then move. I don’t like how many people are awake in that building.”
I take the service stairs two at a time, emerging back on the ground floor. The exit is twenty meters away. Freedom is twenty meters away. I just need to?—
“Stop right there.”
