The ache in Caleb's shoulder had settled deep by the time the burner comms-chip vibrated on the rusted footlocker. Hunger pulled under his ribs, sharp enough to make his hands tighten.
He reached down and tapped the screen. An encrypted message popped up.
You look exhausted. I could order a heated transport for you. You just have to ask.
Caleb rubbed his taped knuckles against his jaw and typed a manual reply. I take the rail.
So stubborn. The second text appeared immediately. Did you see the file name in the bay? The registry confirms it. You are growing. I am so proud.
He tossed the comms-chip back onto the metal footlocker, leaving the message unanswered. Her surveillance pressed in from all sides.
A heavy knock rattled the steel door.
Caleb grabbed his combat knife off the footlocker and pulled the heavy latch open.
