I freeze, every nerve screaming at me to stay still.
There it is again.
“…—line… do you read…”
My pulse slams so hard it makes me dizzy.
No.
No, I don’t do this to myself. I don’t hallucinate. That’s how they win.
I hold my breath.
Listen harder.
“…repeat… Ghostline…”
My vision blurs.
Ronan. So I wasn’t hallucinating? I shake my head. I don’t know what to think.
Ghostline was never a myth to us. That was Ronan Pierce. Calm in chaos. Precision in hell.
They told me he was dead.
They lied.
My mouth opens before I can stop it. “Ronan?”
The word scrapes out like broken glass.
Nothing answers.
But the silence feels… thinner now.
Footsteps thunder suddenly.
Too fast.
Too many.
Guards flood the corridor, weapons raised, voices sharp with urgency.
One of them snarls into a radio, “We have interference—possible breach—lower tiers—now!”
Cold fear slides down my spine.
Not for me.
For whoever sent that signal.
The Warden won’t like this.
The slot in my door slams open.
Light burns my eyes.
A guard steps close, baton raised. “You heard something.”
