Tessa wasn't sure how long they'd been walking.
There were no signs down here. No lights, either—just the dim pulse of Camilla's resonance tracker casting a faint green hue across the corridor walls as they moved. The sound of their steps was swallowed whole. No echo. No trace.
The tunnel smelled of time.
Not decay. Just stale, recycled heat and the metal tang of disused airflow—a silence that hadn't been broken in years, maybe longer. A silence that hadn't been abandoned.
Just sealed.
Camilla moved like she'd never stopped coming here. One hand brushed the tunnel wall every twenty steps, like she was counting. Like she was making sure the world hadn't shifted while no one was looking.
They'd entered through Maintenance Sector 9, behind a coolant stack that hadn't cooled anything in at least a decade. The panel hadn't opened with a badge or override.
Camilla had knocked.
Four. One. Two.
No rhythm. Just memory.
