But if Ahna was worried, she didn’t show it. “And you’re sure Nadine will come?”
“If the relay comes from me, yeah, she’ll come sniffing. She always does.”
“Very well. You will draw us a map of every structural access point in that area—”
“I should mention,” Mira interrupted, “Nadine will know something’s up if I don’t wear the same outfit I usually do. So, one of you might want to go get it for me. Unless you trust me to get it and come back.”
“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere. So, in addition to the structural access points, you will also draw a map to where you’ve hidden your equipment. Someone on solar shift can go recover it for you.”
Mira sat back in her seat, unimpressed.
“Wait, we’re actually doing this?” Imara snapped. “You guys don’t understand. If we walk in there without that level of protection, we aren’t walking back out.”
Claude waved her off. “It’s fine. The basaltweave spacesuits do the same thing. And they already have the gloves and specialized boots. I wouldn’t worry about exposure.”
Mira didn’t speak again as Yosef checked her cuffs, ensuring she was fully secured to the chair.
“We move when her gear arrives,” Philip instructed. “Until then, prep for full hazmat infiltration. I want visuals, entry points, and two failsafe exit routes by sunup.”
“Understood,” Claude answered, already flicking through screens on his electropad.
“Keep her contained,” Philip added. “And I want her monitored at all times. If she so much as sneezes wrong, I want to know.”
Silence pooled in the interrogation room as Ahna moved toward the door, leaving Yosef standing against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes trained on Mira.
More orders passed hands like static, sharp and fast. Everyone had a role, a timeline. But Christian stayed still because beneath the fury coiled tight in his gut, there was something he hadn’t let himself feel in days. Maybe even months.
Hope.
They had a lead, a real one. If they could pull this off, Nadine would be caught. And once they had Nadine and she was in prison . . .
His heart kicked harder. Christian didn’t trust Mira or this plan, but for the first time in weeks, the path wasn’t a dead end.
Maybe—just maybe—it was a way back to Gemma.
The entrance to Sector 6 was nearly invisible beneath the warped overhang of collapsed scaffolding and slag. They approached it cautiously, dressed in their basaltweave suits, their boots muffled by decades of sediment. A jagged tear in the stone wall exposed what remained of the tunnel’s old access hatch. It was just wide enough for a person to slip through sideways.
Mira stepped through the breach first. Her silhouette was swallowed by the dark. The rest of them followed single file.
Inside, the heat struck like breath from a dying furnace. The smelting tunnels hadn’t seen use in over a decade. But the walls still sweated with poison and were coated in streaks of blackened metal. Their once-functioning panels were blistered and curled by years of runoff. Even through his helmet, the air tasted thick and sour, and Christian’s nose burned with the chemical tang of decay and rust.
As they went deeper into the belly of the tunnel, charred struts bent inward like broken ribs, and old runoff tanks hunched nearby, their pipes corroded and hissing faintly. A rusted cart lay overturned, eaten halfway through by whatever chemical slurry had run through here.
Christian’s eyes flicked upward as the tunnel widened into a vast, domed chamber. Cracked scaffolding looped along the rim, and in the center stood a raised metal platform. The Dissent had been using this place near the runoff tanks for alongtime, it appeared.
“The beacon’s in a lock box on that platform,” she said, adjusting the duffel on her shoulder and marching toward the platform without hesitation.
“Understood,” Ahna replied. She motioned to Imara, who tapped on the bracer worn around her wrist. Karma zipped into motion, darting silently across the upper rafters to follow Mira, its exterior fabricated to withstand corrosion and heat.
“Into positions,” Ahna continued. “Christian, northeast catwalk. Find a sniper perch. Yosef, upper right scaffold. I’ll move left. Hawk, go right. Imara, find cover and keep eyes on Mira at all times. Claude, set up the perimeter and hold. And remember, pay attention to your suits. Don’t touch anything you don’t need to. Vest lights off when you get into place. And for stars’ sake, if your HUD warns you’re low on oxygen, get the fuck out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied in chorus.
The climb to the sniper perch was slow and deliberate. Christian kept his body tight against the gnarled scaffolding pipes, steadying himself against the railings and counting every footfall as he ascended. A slip from this height would hurt like hell. It was again ironic how much his hunts had prepared him for moments like this.
“Not that I’ll ever be thankful,” he mumbled under his breath.
Carefully, he worked his way higher until he, at last, reached the top. Sweat slicked his back beneath his basaltweave spacesuit—the same one he’d worn on the surface of Reva not so long ago. He shook away a droplet before it reached his eye.
