Evelyn was already standing, wrapped in a woolen blanket and holding a steaming mug, when Ethan finally emerged from his room. The first light of morning, a pale and misty grey, barely filtered through the curtains of the small mountain cabin they had rented. The living room table was covered with what remained of the map and the ciphered codex they had discovered the night before.
"Six on the dot, according to Grandma's clock," Evelyn commented, her voice clear and taut, with no trace of sleepiness. "I wouldn't expect anything less from you, considering you spent until two in the morning debating astrological symbology."
Ethan grunted, walking towards the coffeemaker. "Debating the astrological symbology of an abandoned asylum that, according to the map, is our first stop. A stop you insist must be before sunrise."
"It's not an abandoned asylum, Ethan, it's a forgotten military radio station, and the codex was very specific about the 'hour of shadows'," Evelyn retorted, pointing to a particular glyph on the parchment. "The less sun there is to warm the air, the lower the chance of moisture interfering with the equipment we are looking for."
A silence fell as Ethan poured his coffee, the hot steam offering him a momentary respite from the cold and anxiety. He knew his skepticism was just a facade. Inside, the thrill of the hunt and the intellectual challenge had already completely hooked him.
"Alright," he finally said, taking a bitter sip. "Epsilon Station, thirty kilometers northwest. I need you to check the electromagnetic countermeasure kit for the third time. If what we're looking for is there, it's likely protected, or worse, still active."
Evelyn offered a fleeting smile, an expression that was a mixture of triumph and genuine affection. In that moment, she was the driving force, the one lighting the spark in the engine.
In less than an hour, Ethan's old pickup truck was loaded. Climbing gear, backpacks full of decoding tools, high-powered flashlights, and the EM kit Ethan had assembled, all covered by a tarp to avoid prying eyes.
The drive was silent. The asphalt road gave way to a gravel path that wound through dense coniferous forests. The fog had grown thicker, a milky veil that swallowed the road. It was the kind of morning that felt more like a late pre-dawn hour, perfect for a clandestine meeting or an unauthorized incursion.
"We're here," Evelyn whispered, turning off the engine about a hundred meters from the perimeter fence.
Epsilon Station was larger and more imposing than the map had suggested. A rusted radio tower, seemingly piercing the mist, dominated the skyline. The complex was surrounded by a barbed wire fence, bent and broken in several places, but still functional. A faded sign warned of danger and military property, an empty threat after decades of abandonment.
Ethan retrieved the bolt cutters from the back. "I'll handle this. Watch for motion sensors; even if the main grid is down, there could be physical traps."
Evelyn knelt, pulling out her lock pick and a tension wrench. "Tell me you brought something stronger," Ethan said.
She looked up and gave him a look of gentle disdain. "The code is eloquent. The padlock is not. This isn't about brute force, Ethan, it's about precision. The challenge is the location, not the lock."
With methodical concentration, Evelyn manipulated the tiny pins. Three soft clicks were heard in quick succession, followed by a final snap. The heavy latch slid to the side.
Ethan pushed the door, and it shrieked in protest, the sound amplified by the morning silence. He stopped at the threshold, his breath visible in the cold air.
Inside, the darkness was complete and the silence was oppressive, broken only by the constant drip of water. Evelyn turned on her flashlight, revealing a long, cavernous hallway. Dust and debris covered the floor, and the walls, lined with broken electrical equipment, were lost in shadow.
"Welcome, Ethan," she whispered, her flashlight focused on a rusted identification plaque on the wall. "To the place no one wanted to return to."
Just then, a faint, high-pitched hum, like an insect caught in a jar, began to vibrate from the end of the hallway—a sound too mechanical to be an animal and too persistent to be static.
Ethan pulled out his EM field detector. The needle spiked.
"Active," he muttered. "Very active."