He gives me a look like he hates being told, then nods once.
We slip along the base of the racks toward the stairs, keeping the metal uprights between us and the camera’s line as long as we can.
The scrape happens again somewhere behind us.
Closer.
We both freeze and listen.
There’s a low voice that dies.
They’re moving again.
I exhale slowly through my nose and keep us going, one step at a time, not letting the urgency turn into noise.
We reach the first stair.
Vito tests it with the ball of his foot.
No squeak.
He starts up, careful, and I follow, hand on the rail only when I have to.
Halfway up, he pauses and looks down at me.
“What’s the plan once it’s blind?” he mouths.
I keep my voice in a whisper. “Back down. Jack it. Drag it behind the racks. Out the service gate. One pallet at a time.”
Vito’s expression says that pace is going to drive him insane.
He keeps climbing anyway.
We hit the platform.
The metal grating under our feet is cold and dusty, and the whole thing feels like it wants to rattle if we put a foot wrong.
I crouch immediately.
Vito crouches beside me, eyes on the camera below.
From up here, I can see the cable run.
A clean install. No slack. No easy mistakes.
Which means we make our own.
I pull my blade out again and slide it under the zip ties, cutting them slowly, catching the loose ends so they don’t snap and flick.
Vito watches my hands like it’s torture.
I peel the cable just enough to expose the line.
One clean cut.
The camera below goes dark.
The little red indicator dies with it.
