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“I agree,” I said quietly.

Her eyes met mine, wide and uncertain. “That is not reassuring.”

“No,” I admitted.

We entered.

The corridor beyond was narrow and unmarked, smelling of stale air and ozone. No civilian traffic. No visible cameras. Talia lowered her voice to a whisper that barely carried. “Where does this go?”

“Originally, an old military service route.” I kept my own voice low, watching her face.

Her eyes flicked up from the dim passageway. “Originally?”

“It now intersects with administrative logistics.”

Her eyes narrowed, a familiar intensity returning to her features. “What kind?”

“Medical.”

That got her attention. Her posture straightened almost imperceptibly. “Show me.”

I brought up the local route schematic on my wrist display. The holographic map glowed between us, most of the system labels showing old military infrastructure overlaid with newer administrative layers.

Talia studied it for maybe thirty seconds, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then she pointed sharply at a junction. “That one.”

I followed her finger. “Why?”

“That isn’t standard medical routing.” Her voice held that particular edge she got when spotting institutional flaws.

“It is marked biological transfer.”

“Exactly.” She moved closer without seeming to realize it, her shoulder nearly touching mine. Neither of us commented on the proximity.

“See that code?” she asked, her finger hovering over the display.

“Yes.”

“That is chain-of-custody routing.”

“For specimens.”

“Yes.” Her gaze met mine, and I saw the understanding dawning in her eyes even before I asked.

“Human?”

“Could be. Zunatorian too. Anything requiring sealed biological handling.” She enlarged the route with a quick gesture, her fingers moving with practiced ease. “This is a controlled transfer line. It would bypass some identity checks because the cargo itself becomes the priority.”

I considered this, watching how the light from the display caught the determined set of her jaw. “You think we can move through it.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I think I can make the system think we’re escorting restricted biological material.”

My gaze shifted fully toward her, taking in the confidence that had returned to her stance. “That would require administrative access.”

“Not full access.” She pointed again, more insistently this time. “See this? The transfer system doesn’t authenticate every user through Central Review. It authenticates the custody sequence.”

I understood immediately, the implications clicking into place like weapon components. “If we create a valid sequence⁠—”

“It doesn’t care who we are until the handoff point.” She finished my thought, her voice tight with what might have been triumph.