"Got it," he says.
And then the world turns red.
The lights snap off.
Not gradually.
Not with any kind of warning.
They justsnapoff, plunging the vault into complete darkness.
For three seconds, there's nothing.
Just absolute, suffocating black.
I can't see Cyprian. Can't see the console. Can't see my own hands in front of my face. The darkness is so complete it feels physical—pressing against my skin, filling my lungs, making theair thick and heavy. My heart slams against my ribs. The choker suddenly feels like it's choking me. I reach out instinctively, my fingers finding Cyprian's arm, solid and warm in the void.
And then the crimson grid activates.
Flashing.
Aggressive.
Flooding the vault and corridors with pulsing red light that makes everything look like a nightmare.
The black glass walls don't just reflect the light—they seem toabsorbit, the obsidian surfaces turning slick and wet-looking, like they're bleeding. The recessed fixtures overhead strobe in sharp, rhythmic pulses, casting jagged shadows that twist and distort with each flash. The entire space transforms from sleek corporate vault into something claustrophobic and hostile, the red light turning Cyprian's slate-gray skin into something darker, more primal.
The building-wide alarm.
Silent, but absolutely unmistakable.
"Fuck," I breathe.
And then I hear them.
Footsteps.
Heavy.
Methodical.
Echoing through the corridor outside the vault.
Not running.
Marching.
Multiple sets, moving in coordinated rhythm—thud, thud, thud—the sound growing louder, closer, more distinct with each pulse of the crimson grid. I can pick out individual patterns now. Four separate rhythms. Maybe five. All converging on our position from the east stairwell.
Kael's voice crackles through the earpiece, urgent and clipped.
"Cyprian. Tamsin. The breach has been detected. Hale knows. Repeat: Hale knows. He's locked down the main elevators and deployed his remaining enforcers to the east stairwell. You have approximately sixty seconds before they reach your position."
Cyprian's hand wraps around my wrist.
"Move," he says.
We run.
