Jordan stares at the crawlspace like it’s a coffin.
Then she looks back at me, eyes blazing with stubborn life. “If I get stuck?—”
“You won’t,” I cut in. “You’re too mean to die in a hole.”
That earns a sharp huff of laughter from her, quick and disbelieving, and then she drops to her knees and starts crawling in.
I stay at the entrance, listening.
I can hear her breath inside the shaft, hear the scrape of her jacket against metal, hear the soft curse she mutters when she bumps an elbow.
“Okay,” she says, voice muffled. “This is… disgusting.”
“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s a prison. Lower your expectations.”
“I wasn’t expectingdead skin flakesin the vents, Lonari.”
“Could be worse,” I say. “Could be alive.”
“Do not—” she starts, then cuts herself off with a shaky exhale. “Okay. I see the panel. Give me… give me a second.”
Another explosion hits the station. The lights flicker wildly. Somewhere close, a conduit pops and sprays sparks that hiss against the floor.
“Jordan,” I say, voice hard. “Now.”
“I’m trying,” she snaps back, and I can hear the tremble under the anger. “Manual override is old-school. It’s got a physical lock and a circuit bridge and—oh my god—someone wired this like they hated technicians.”
“Join the club,” I mutter.
There’s a metallic click.
Then a deeper thunk, like a heavy latch disengaging.
The sealed door in front of me shudders and begins to slide open.
Cold air pours out—hangar air—smelling of fuel and dust and sealed compartments.
“Got it!” Jordan calls, voice bright with adrenaline. “Door’s opening!”
I shove it wider with my shoulder and step into the hidden shuttle bay.
It’s smaller than the main hangar, tucked beneath it like a secret pocket—one maintenance shuttle sitting dormant on a pad, its hull dull with years of neglect, but intact. The bay lights flicker overhead. Dust coats everything in a fine layer, disturbed only by the tremors.
Jordan crawls out of the access shaft, hair wild, cheeks smudged with grime, eyes shining like she just wrestled a god and won. She looks at the shuttle and exhales a laugh that sounds half hysterical.
“That’s real,” she whispers.
“That’s real,” I confirm. “That’s our way out.”
She runs to the shuttle hatch, hands moving over the manual seals. “It’s locked.”
“Of course it’s locked,” I say, and I reach past her, gripping the emergency lever with one hand and yanking hard enough to make the metal shriek.
The hatch pops.
Jordan stares. “You could dothatbut you couldn’t reach the keypad?”
I glare at her.
