The corridor swallowed her whole.
Raven walked alone. Dark pressed in from both sides—thick, heavy, the kind of dark that made you want to check over your shoulder even when you knew nobody was there. Vincent's words still rang in her ears. Find them. Two words. A quiet nod. That was all he'd given her. The Guardians didn't know she was hunting. That was deliberate. She worked better unwatched. Fewer eyes meant fewer people second-guessing every move she made.
Her footsteps barely made a sound on the stone.
The logistics wing sat at the end of the east hall. Small room. Painted-shut window. Shelves of dusty binders nobody had touched in months. The terminal glowed faint blue in the dark—the only light in the whole damn place. She dropped into the chair. Fingers hit the keys before her ass touched the seat. Cold precision. The same muscle memory she used on triggers and blades. Heartbeat steady for now.
Barely.
