A soft hum rose from the walls. Faint. Mechanical. Like a machine waking up and stretching.
Mile’s voice crackled over comms with interference. “H–awk—Ju—ing—static—can you—”
Then he was gone.
Hawk tapped his earpiece. “Miles, come in.”
Nothing.
He tried again. Nothing.
“Our signal’s being dampened,” he said. “Localized suppression field.”
I ran my hand along the wall. Smooth steel—then a small indentation. Not random. Intentional.
“Hawk,” I whispered. “Look.”
Under my glove, etched into the metal so faintly you’d miss it without touching—
a pattern.
His breath caught. “That’s a Rangers unit marking.”
“Yours?” I asked.
He knelt, lamp sweeping over the tiny scratches. “No. Reese’s. He’s giving us breadcrumbs.”
“Or directions.”
“Or warnings.”
We followed the etchings deeper into the corridor. Each one spaced exactly twenty feet apart. Each one unmistakably Reese’s hand.
The corridor ended abruptly at a T-split. Left or right. No hints. No markings.
Then the lights flickered on by themselves, a soft glow pouring down from ceiling panels we hadn’t even seen.
“Welcome,” a calm voice said.
Not Reese.
A woman. Warm. Pleasant.
A synthetic intelligence.
Hawk raised his rifle. “Identify yourself.”
“I am Lyric,” the voice replied. “System administrator for Echo Command. I monitor health, threat recognition, and behavioral variance of all authorized personnel.”
My pulse tightened. “You’re an AI.”
“Technically, I am an adaptive decision matrix built on neural-model reinforcement—”
“Yeah,” Hawk cut in. “AI.”
“I am happy you understand.” The voice softened as if pleased. “Hawk Jensen. Julia Marlow. Your arrival was anticipated.”
I exchanged a glance with Hawk. Wary. Controlled.
