The way down is unexpected.
Not because it is secret—but because it hides in plain sight.
Past the café where steam curls from mugs and laughter pretends nothing is wrong.
Past offices where routine keeps fear at bay.
Past corridors worn smooth by people who believe danger announces itself.
They stop at a wall.
Plain. Unmarked. Concrete like every other.
Jax steps forward without hesitation. A code pad flickers to life beneath his palm. His fingers move from memory, not thought.
The wall opens.
Not sliding. Not retracting.
It splits, revealing an elevator shaft that drops straight down into darkness.
Cassidy exhales under her breath.
Rose's gaze sharpens.
They step inside.
The doors close with a soft seal.
A moment passes.
Then a voice fills the space—level, clear, unmistakably Sable.
"Identification requested."
Jax answers immediately. "Jax. Weaver. Cassidy. Rose."
Silence.
Then—
"Verified."
The elevator begins to descend.
Slow.
Too slow for comfort.
Seconds stretch. The numbers on the display tick downward, deeper than anything built for convenience. This isn't medical. This isn't storage.
This is distance by design.
Rose breaks the quiet.
"Since when does Solara have containment," she asks, voice steady, "and why is it this far down?"
Jax answers too quickly.
"In case we ever captured Varos. Keep him far from any leyline interference."
Cassidy doesn't say a word.
She just bumps his arm with her fist—light, almost casual—but the look she gives him isn't.
It's a reminder.
We promised.
Jax exhales slowly.
"…Forget what I just said."
Rose and Weaver turn fully now. No accusation. Just attention.
"This cell," Jax continues, "was built years ago. By my design." He pauses. "It wasn't for Varos."
The elevator hums.
"It was for Allium."
Rose doesn't explode.
She simply asks, "Why were you afraid to say that?"
Weaver studies Jax, then nods once.
"Allium is not a standard variable, Commander," he says calmly. "A structure built to observe him makes sense. We operate within Solara. He is a variable."
Jax lets out something close to relief.
"It wasn't meant as a prison," he says. "It was observation. Requested by King Vex. Approved by me. I never used it. Never intended to." A beat. "Didn't want to tell you, Weaver."
Weaver doesn't bristle.
Doesn't argue.
"People build weapons they never fire," he says instead. "Intent matters. You chose restraint."
Cassidy snorts quietly. "Central loves weapons."
Jax nods grimly. "That's what they wanted to learn."
The elevator slows.
Stops.
The doors open.
Below ground, the air feels different—thicker, tuned. Hawk stands near a console. Sable beside him. Two troopers at rest.
And in the center of the chamber—
Allium.
Encased within a transparent cell that ripples faintly with frequency bands. Not bars. Not walls. Something more thoughtful. More dangerous.
Allium looks up.
His expression softens the instant he sees Rose.
"…You're better," he says gently.
Rose takes in the glass. The frequencies. The cage disguised as care.
"I'd be better if you weren't in there."
Allium smiles faintly. "Hawk said it's temporary."
Jax moves to Hawk, voices low. Updates exchanged. Orders softened by reality.
Cassidy drifts toward Sable.
"Hey," she says, already pulling up her radar interface. "Can you help me recalibrate the frequency sweep?"
Sable nods. "Last reading was high. Try right."
Cassidy turns the dial.
Her breath catches.
"Cassidy?" Sable asks.
Cassidy turns the screen toward her. Hands unsteady now.
Four signals glow.
Allium.
Rose.
Weaver.
And—
Another.
Unclassified.
Too close.
Not outside.
Not approaching.
Already there.
"…It's here," Cassidy whispers.
Inside the room.
And for the first time since the doors opened—
the cell hum changes pitch.