She pointed to the damp mist hanging in the tunnel. It hovered in the air, vibrating in a perfect, unnatural grid.
“Harmonic Ward,” Torvin murmured, crouching to inspect the water level. “Nasty work. It skips the warning and boils the blood of anyone crossing the threshold.”
“Can you break it?” I asked.
“Break? No. Force triggers the perimeter alarm.” Torvin grinned, sharp and white in the gloom. He drew a set of curved tools from his belt—carved bone. “I have to put it to sleep.”
He moved forward, sliding the tools into the invisible grid. For aterrifying ten seconds, the air buzzed with a sound like angry wasps. Sweat beaded on Torvin’s forehead.
Then, with a sound like a dying breath, the vibration stopped. The mist drifted naturally again.
“Clear,” Torvin exhaled, wiping his brow. “But don’t touch the walls.”
We moved past him, careful to tread exactly where he walked.
A few minutes later, Karys stopped at a junction where the brickwork gave way to rusted iron.
“We’re here,” she whispered.
An industrial grate blocked the path, bolted into the stone. Beyond it, I could hear a steady thrumming—not water, but machinery.
“This is the perimeter,” Torvin said. He reached into his belt and produced one of the rune-etched discs—the Static-Dampener.
He pressed it against the iron of the grate. It magnetised with a clack. The runes on the disc flared green, then settled into a dull, pulsing grey as it matched the frequency of the ward.
“We’re synced,” Torvin whispered. “Five minutes starting… now.”
Goran hauled the grate wide, and we stepped through.
The air changed instantly. The wet, rotting cold of the sewer was replaced by dry, dusty heat.
We were standing in a massive service cavity—the boiler room of Quinn Tower. Giant pipes, wrapped in insulation, crisscrossed the ceiling like snakes. The hum of the building’s life support systems was overwhelming here, a constant, mechanical drone.
We were in.
Riven stopped beside me. He scanned the room, his eyes sharp, the silver swirls spinning slowly in the gloom.
“This is the split,” he said. His voice was low, barely audible over the machinery.
He pointed to a set of thick grey doors on the far wall.
“Service lifts. That’s our route to the lobby.”
He turned to the right, pointing to a narrow, vertical ladder bolted to the wall, disappearing into a dark shaft filled with cabling.
“That’s the spine. The maintenance riser. It goes all the way to the physical plant on the roof.”
Dane walked over to me. He looked at the ladder, then at me. He gripped his baton, his knuckles white.
“Don’t stop climbing,” he said. “No matter what you hear.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “Watch your back, Dane.”
“Always.”
He turned and joined Goran by the lift doors.
Riven lingered.
