The extraction team exited the tunnel into a narrow office that barely fit the three of them. The air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of ink and old parchment. Shelves leaned against the walls at uneven angles, half-emptied and neglected, while a single spirit lamp buzzed faintly overhead. The light was too dim for comfort, just enough to cast their faces into sharp planes of blue and shadow.

  A metallic click broke the stillness.

  A [Wasp] crawled out from beneath the warped door, its carapace dull silver against the stone. Its red optic pulsed once before steadying.

  “All clear,” Alpha’s voice murmured through its speaker. “Closest patrol will round the corner in forty seconds. Get ready.”

  Three heads nodded in unison. Jonah vanished in a ripple of light, his outline dissolving into a faint shimmer that even the spirit lamp couldn’t hold. Only the soft displacement of air betrayed that he was still there.

  Dr. Maria eased the door open.

  Beyond it stretched a utilitarian hallway, the kind built for function rather than appearance. Spirit stone lamps glowed at steady intervals, their light clean but cold, running down lines of carved molding worn with time.

  They stepped out together, the air thick with the hum of ward lines buried behind the walls. Somewhere deeper in the estate, the alarm’s pulse faded to a low, rhythmic beat.

  Garrelt cracked his neck and flexed his shoulders, joints popping. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered, voice low and calm.

  He stepped to the side wall, braced his stance, and drove his fist into the stone. The impact boomed through the cramped space like thunder. Dust cascaded from the ceiling. He hit it again, and again, each strike leaving a crater deep enough to hide a fist. The floor trembled beneath them.

  Dr. Maria — still wearing the borrowed face of the captured captain — lifted one hand. At her gesture, the stone underfoot rippled upward in a surge. Bands of rock clamped around Garrelt’s ankles and wrists, pinning him to the cratered wall. The bindings flared with the same spiritual signature Alpha had recorded from the actual captain earlier.

  The effect was immediate.

  From the hall beyond came a chorus of startled shouts, followed by the rhythmic pound of boots on stone.

  “Right on schedule,” Alpha murmured from the doorway. His [Wasp] landed on Dr. Maria’s shoulder and faded away. She turned and shut the door to the office as the antborg left behind scurried back into the dug tunnel.

  The next moment, five men burst around the corner, weapons drawn. Their eyes widened as they spotted her. The squad leader — a broad man with a cropped beard — snapped his head toward the disguised Maria.

  “Captain! What’s going on?” he asked.

  Dr. Maria turned slowly, the motion measured. The grin she gave them was sharp and humorless. “Found a rat trying to sneak into my office, that’s what.”

  She gestured toward Garrelt, who snarled and yanked against his restraints. One of his hands cracked free of the stone, sending shards flying. He swung, aiming wide, teeth bared. She pivoted aside, caught his momentum, and drove her fist into his gut with a dull, wet sound. Garrelt doubled over, the air leaving him in a strangled gasp. The guards winced. Before Garrelt could drop, the stone closed over his arm again, locking him back against the wall.

  Maria spat at his feet. “Pathetic.”

  The men exchanged wary looks. One younger than the rest stepped forward. “Captain, how’d he get this far in? The alarm just went off.”

  Maria’s glare hit him like a slap. “Do I look like an array expert, fool? How would I know?” She let the silence linger long enough for him to pale, then added, “One thing I do know — where there’s one rat, there’s more.”

  She reached into her belt pouch and drew out a strip of talisman paper etched with tight, curling runes. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it spinning toward Garrelt. It slapped against his neck and ignited, glowing a brief, angry red before fading. Garrelt slumped, head drooping, his breath slowing to a heavy, even rhythm.

  The guards relaxed slightly.

  Maria turned her gaze over the group, eyes cold and assessing. “Berner. Ha-Joon.” She didn’t hesitate; Alpha’s whisper through her comm gave her the names a heartbeat before she spoke them. “Take our guest to the cells. I’ll join you once I’ve handled the rest of the rats. The rest of you—” her smile edged into something cruel “—with me. We’re going… hunting.”

  A ripple of agreement ran through the squad. One or two even chuckled, the sound nervous but eager.

  Berner and Ha-Joon moved forward, careful but efficient. They pried Garrelt from the wall, one lifting his shoulder, the other grabbing his bound arms. His weight sagged between them, convincing in its limpness. The runes still smoldered faintly on his neck.

  As they turned to haul him toward the stairwell, the squad leader cleared his throat. “Should we, uh… inform the Mistresses, Captain?”

  Maria paused mid-stride, her borrowed jaw tightening in irritation. She turned just enough for them to see her eyes narrow. “I’ll inform Lady Orion myself. But don’t tell Kira. If that bitch takes all the credit again, the Lady will have our heads.”

  Unease flickered across their faces. The men glanced at each other, then nodded in unison, muttering agreement.

  “Understood, Captain.”

  Maria’s smirk returned. “Good. Then move.”

  She turned, cloak flaring as she strode toward the corridor, every movement crisp and commanding. The guards fell in behind her, the rhythm of their steps echoing down the hall, while the air smelled of stone dust and cold iron.

  The two escorts dragged their prisoner down the opposite corridor, boots scuffing on the polished stone. In the empty hall behind them, a phantom followed.

  ——————————————————

  The trek through the base was quiet in a way that gnawed at Jonah’s nerves. Each step felt too loud, each corner too empty. He kept expecting a patrol to appear out of the dim light, weapons raised, demanding to know what they were doing there. But no one came — not even a servant or clerk. The silence pressed closer with every turn, thick and strained to breaking.

  He tried to tell himself it was a good sign. That it meant Dr. Maria’s part of the plan was working. Maybe.

  The corridor stretched ahead in clean lines of stone and carved molding, spirit-crystal lamps burning with their cold, steady glow. Every few paces, Garrelt’s boots dragged across the polished floor, the only sound in the hallway beside the soft grunts of the two guards hauling him forward.

  Jonah followed half a step behind, cloaked and invisible, the distortion field bending faint ripples of light around him. He tried to stay calm, keep every motion measured, though tension wound through him like wire. Alpha’s voice still echoed faintly through the comm bead in his ear: Everything’s going according to plan. Hold position and await instructions.

  For a while, neither of the guards spoke.

  Then the shorter guard muttered. “Man, this place always gives me the creeps when no one’s around.” His voice bounced down the hall. He was a compact man with a buzz cut and a nose that looked like someone had taken a bite out of it. “Right, Burny?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  The taller one, dark-skinned with braids pulled tight against his skull, scowled sideways. “I told you, it’s Berner.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” The short one rolled his eyes. “Still a stupid name.”

  “Better than ‘Bernard.’” Berner shrugged but glanced down each side hall like he expected something to crawl out. The nervous motion made his armor clink softly.

  That earned a quick bark of laughter. “Tell me about it! Sounds like some noble’s brat. Maybe I should start calling you Young Master Be—”

  Thwack!

  Berner’s gauntlet smacked the back of Ha-Joon’s head before he could finish. The shorter man stumbled, rubbing his skull and glaring daggers at his partner. “Hey! What was that for?”

  “Because you never shut up,” Berner muttered. “And stop using nicknames when we’re on duty.”

  Their bickering faded into silence again. Dust drifted in the blue light. Somewhere overhead, a door slammed shut. Jonah’s fingers twitched against his thigh.

  The corridor bent left, opening into a broader section where the walls curved inward toward a reinforced door. The seatwork etched across it shimmered faintly, old gold lines pulsing with contained energy. A pair of spirit lamps hung on either side like sentinels.

  Berner grunted and dropped Garrelt with a thud beside the wall. “Hold him a second,” he muttered, fishing through the keyring at his belt.

  “Hey, Burny…” Ha-Joon said after a pause.

  Berner sighed without looking up. “What, Ha-Joon?”

  “I’ve been thinking.” Ha-Joon tipped his head toward the slumped prisoner. “How’d this guy even get in here? The estate’s been on lockdown since the alarm went off.”

  The keys stilled halfway to the lock. Berner frowned. “Huh. You’re right…”

  Jonah’s pulse spiked. He edged half a step closer, breath tight against the inside of his mask. In his ear, Alpha’s voice cut through the tension. “Not yet.”

  Ha-Joon nudged Garrelt’s leg with the toe of his boot. “Think we should—”

  “Good, I caught you two before you left.”

  The new voice drifted from the far end of the corridor — smooth and unhurried, but sharp enough to make both guards jolt. Jonah froze. The sound crawled up his spine line an icy hand. He turned toward the source, teeth gritted against the surge of anger rising in his throat.

  Thomas stood framed in the pale light spilling from the upper hall, coat half-buttoned, expression hovering somewhere between a sneer and a frown. He looked older than Jonah remembered — eyes shadowed, posture slightly hunched — but there was no mistaking him.

  Berner straightened instantly, his eyes narrowing. “You… you’re one of the Lady’s assistants. What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be upstairs? The alarm’s still active.”

  Thomas rolled his eyes as he walked forward, his boots echoing softly. “I’m here because your captain decided to pull every guard in the area to chase ghosts, leaving me to play messenger boy.” He stopped a few paces away and crossed his arms. “Lady Orion wants the prisoner moved to the high-security cells with the Sister.”

  Both guards stiffened.

  Ha-Joon blinked. “What? Why? Those cells are for Second-Realm cultivators.”

  “I don’t make a habit of questioning why the Lady asks me to do something,” Thomas said flatly.

  Ha-Joon opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  But Berner didn’t ease up. His hand drifted toward his weapon. “Something’s not right here,” he muttered. “Orders like that don’t come through you. I don’t care if you’re the Lady’s assistant—”

  Thomas’s aura flared.

  A weight pressed down on the corridor. Golden-Spirit pressure rolled off Thomas in a single pulse, crashing over the guards like a physical force. The lamps along the wall flickered and hissed. Berner’s knees buckled. Ha-Joon’s breath hitched. Even Jonah felt it from a few paces back, enough to make his teeth ache. For a brief moment, memories of that night two weeks ago flooded back to Jonah, and he barely restrained himself from lashing out.

  “But nothing,” Thomas hissed. “Your duty is to follow orders — just as mine is to give them.”

  The aura vanished as abruptly as it had come. The two men gasped, blinking as if surfacing from deep water. Jonah’s pulse hammered in his ears. He caught the faint tremor in Thomas’s hand before the man tucked it into his coat pocket again.

  Thomas sighed, adjusting his collar as if shaking off dust. “If you must know,” he said, voice lighter now, “I assume it’s the same reason she’s there.”

  Ha-Joon blinked. “You mean, as a trap?”

  Thomas’s mouth curved into a small, humorless smile, but he didn’t elaborate further.

  The guards exchanged looks. Whatever doubts they’d had dissolved under the combined weight of fear and habit. They shrugged at each other and bent to lift Garrelt again. The limp body sagged between them. His head lolled as Ha-Joon adjusted his grip, muttering curses under his breath. Thomas turned without another glance and started back the way he’d come. His footsteps were brisk, purposeful. The two guards followed.

  Jonah followed them.

  The corridor pressed close as the group advanced. Every few steps, a tremor rippled through the stone, loosening faint cascades of dust that shimmered in the lamplight.

  Alpha’s voice crackled through their comms, low and clipped. “Kira’s on the move. Activating the targeted alarm arrays.”

  The lighting shifted at once. Pale blue lamps flared crimson, and a single red line blazed to life along the length of the right-hand wall, pulsing like a heartbeat. The guards froze mid-stride.

  Ha-Joon frowned, eyes narrowing. “That’s the proximity alarm for the east wing,” he muttered. “You think the captain found our guests?”

  Thomas didn’t break stride. He threw a glance over his shoulder, voice flat. “None of our concern. Keep moving.”

  For a moment, Berner just stared after him. Then he let out a short breath and nodded. “…Right.”

  He and Ha-Joon hefted Garrelt’s weight again and fell back into step, boots striking in uneven rhythm as the red light followed them down the hall.

  At the next junction, the corridor bent left and widened. Lantern light revealed the shift from the polished upper levels to the estate’s older understructure: the walls darkened from pale gray stone to something smoother and darker. The air cooled sharply, carrying a faint, dry tang of iron. Spirit lamps gave way to glowing runes set deep into the masonry, their light pulsing in time with the hum of the wards above.

  The guards slowed, glancing around with unease. Berner eyed the sloping passage ahead. “Always hated this place,” he muttered. “Feels like it’s trying to suffocate me.”

  “Good,” Thomas replied, never breaking stride. “Means the wards are working.” He flicked a glance over his shoulder. “You have the security slip, right?”

  Berner hesitated, patting his pocket before pulling out a thin talisman of white crystal etched with looping characters. “Yeah…”

  Thomas gave a brief nod. “Good. Keep it close.” He turned forward again, the echo of his steps swallowed quickly by the cold stone.

  They continued down the sloping ramp toward the lower sector.

  The corridor ahead widened into a vaulted hall lined with faceless marble statues, each clutching a crystal lantern. The crystals pulsed in perfect rhythm, bathing the group in alternating light — gold, then blue, gold again — until the flicker began to feel like a heartbeat. Ha-Joon winced every time one flashed, muttering under his breath. The air grew heavier with each step, charged with something unseen yet tangible. Jonah steadied his breathing and kept his focus on the mission, refusing to acknowledge the low thrum of power pressing against his awareness.

  Something about this place was… wrong, in ways he couldn’t place. Yet, at the same time, it felt oddly… familiar?

  They rounded the last corner. At the corridor’s end stood a door unlike any he had ever seen. It wasn’t crafted from spirit-iron or any form of tempered steel, but from a metal so dark it seemed to drink in the surrounding light. Its surface was rough, patterned in strange uniform ridges, as though it hadn’t been forged but grown. The sight of it made the fine hairs on Jonah’s arms lift. Somewhere in his memory, buried under Alpha’s lessons and fragments of half-remembered readings, a quiet voice whispered that he should know this material.

  Jonah’s unease sharpened when Alpha’s voice broke through his comms, carrying a tone Jonah had never heard from him before.

  Confusion.

  “What the hell…?”

  Thomas stepped forward and held out a hand. Berner hesitated but placed a small jade talisman in his palm. Without a word, Thomas approached the door. A section of the black metal slid open, revealing a recessed panel and a narrow platform that extended outward with mechanical ease.

  Jonah’s pulse quickened. That can’t be…

  Thomas set the talisman on the platform. A thin red beam swept over it once, twice, before the light blinked green.

  Then a bright, cheerful female voice rang out from nowhere, crisp and melodic:

  //Welcome back, Chief Custodian Arden Vance. Quarter integrity: fifty-three percent. Atmospheric stability: nominal. Cleaning rotation suspended due to extended absence. Would you like to resume duty?//

  Jonah froze, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest like a drum. The words were gibberish to the others, but he knew the cadence, the clipped vowels, the rhythm that Alpha used whenever he got excited and let his accent slip through. That voice hadn’t spoken in the Mortal Tounge. It had spoken in Federation Common.

  An icy pit formed in his gut.

  “Alpha!” Jonah hissed into his comms. “What the hell is going on?!”

  There was no response for a long moment, and then finally. “I don’t know…”

  Those three words chilled Jonah more than anything else so far during this mission.

  The massive door hissed open. Blue light traced hidden seams as layer after layer of locking plates folded inward with flawless mechanical grace. A wave of cold air rolled out — sharp and sterile, and something older. The passage beyond glowed with a dim, steady white light that had no visible source. The walls were seamless, curving slightly inward, covered in a faint pattern that pulsed like veins of light under skin.

  “Jonah.” Alpha spoke over comms once more, more serious than he’d ever heard him. “Do not react. Record everything you see. I’ll explain later.”

  Jonah said nothing, only managed a stiff nod.

  Ha-Joon grunted, adjusting Garrelt’s weight on his shoulder. “These Old Ruins always give me the creeps,” he muttered. Berner rolled his eyes but followed Thomas through the threshold, none of them pausing to look around — seemingly unaware of the magnitude and meaning of the place they stood.

  Jonah, taking a deep breath and trying hard not to panic, chased after them.