Two vehicles. Forty minutes, then twenty-two.
Raven tracked it by feel. The first transfer in the dark, wrists zip-tied in front of her because whoever had prepped the restraints was practical, not cruel. The second vehicle smaller, suspension different, roads rougher toward the end. The final turn a sharp left that put them descending for about ninety seconds before the engine stopped.
Underground, or near enough. The air when they walked her in was ten degrees cooler than the night outside, and it had the dead-air quality of spaces that didn't breathe naturally. Stone walls, probably. Old construction.
She filed all of it.
The room was larger than she'd expected. A cot, a chair, a table bolted to the wall. A window. Real glass, not painted over, though the view was a concrete ledge and nothing beyond it. A light overhead with a cover that would not come loose without tools. A door with a lock she could hear was solid and a hinge she could not yet assess from this angle.
