“Stop what?”
“You know what.”
His lips curved. “Make me.”
She didn’t deign that with an answer as the lift doors slid open at their level. She stepped out, putting distance between them, his low chuckle following her into the corridor.
Section nine was quieter than the main concourse. Fewer people were wandering around, and there were more closed doors.
It didn’t take them long to find the Healer’s Hall. A wide archway with Latharian script carved into the lintel, flanked by two empty reception alcoves.
And another locked door.
Raaze stopped, frowned.
“That’s wrong,” he said quietly.
“What is?”
“Healer’s Halls don’t close.” He was scanning the corridor now. “Not ever. They’re always open.”
Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. “So where’s the healer?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to a terminal built into the smooth metal of the wall. His fingers flew across the interface.
“Quarters are on level four. Section twelve.”
They took the stairs. Raaze didn’t suggest it, just headed for the emergency access without asking. She followed, her hand drifting toward the small blade she kept tucked in the back of her waistband. Not much of a weapon against Latharian males, but it was better than nothing.
The corridor on level four was narrower than the ones below, the walls closer together, and the ceiling lower. It was residential space, clearly built for living rather than commerce. The lighting had dimmed to something warmer and the air carried a faint trace of recycled atmosphere… the smell and slightly stale quality that no filtration system could ever quite eliminate.
Section twelve was three turns from the stairwell. Raaze stayed beside her, his stance protective and possessive, as if he expected random men to leap out and accost her. She counted doors as they passed. Each one was identical, smooth metal panels set flush with the walls, numbered in Latharian script she couldn’t read.
He stopped at one that looked exactly like all the others and hit the notification panel. Nothing.
“What the draanth?” he muttered. “If the healer isn’t in the hall, then where the draanthing hell is he?”
He turned to her, frustration tight in his jaw. “We need to get in.”
His gaze swept the corridor, landing on a fire suppression unit mounted on the wall. An emergency axe sat in a case beside it. He grinned and headed for it.
Shaking her head, she stepped closer to the door, studying the lock. She hadn’t seen one quite the same as this before, but it was familiar. Tilting her head, she studied it.
It was a magnetic seal and a basic security interface. There was a small panel set on the side of the door at about chest height, its indicator light glowing a steady red. She’d seen something like this before on a Terran freighter three years back. A cargo master who’d thought he could skim credits off her father’s shipments and hide the evidence behind a locked door.
He’d been wrong.
The mechanism on this door was functionally the same: different manufacturer, different species, but the same design flaw. The magnetic pins responded to a specific frequency pattern, and if you knew where to apply pressure—physical or electronic—the whole thing folded like wet paper.
Child’s play, really.
“What are you—” Raaze started, returning with the axe in his hands.
She was already crouching, pulling a thin tool from her belt. The lock gave up its secrets in under thirty seconds, and the door slid open.
Oh no.
The quarters beyond weren’t empty. They were destroyed. Furniture was overturned, storage units ripped open, and the contents scattered across the floor. A medical case lay smashed against the far wall, vials and instruments scattered through the wreckage.
