The elevator didn't chime.
It just opened — unceremonious, sterile — into a corridor of matte concrete and pressure-sealed doors. No windows. No signage. The walls hummed with embedded shielding, like the floor was preparing for a war no one had authorized.
Briefing Room 9 sat six doors down, tucked into a blind corner.
No guards. No scanners. Just a slab of alloy and a retinal reader mounted too high for any ordinary cadet.
Hernan didn't knock.
He stepped through.
The room was cold. Not from temperature — from design. Every light in the ceiling was recessed, dull, deliberate. War maps lined the walls, their colors faded to ghosts. Dormant holoprojectors loomed from ceiling tracks like cameras that had already made their judgment.
A long, narrow table stood at the center.
No chairs.Just a single black case.
Commander Ryl stood beside it.
She didn't look up.
"Close the door."
He obeyed.A magnetic seal clicked shut behind him.
"You're two minutes early," she said.
