The destination wasn’t a cabin, thank God.

It was a dead facility.

A former utility site that had been quietly converted into something Foundation-shaped: thick walls, manual locks, minimal glass, paper logs, analog clocks that didn’t click.

No screens in the main corridor. No radios. No soft welcoming lights.

The entrance procedure was intentionally rude: multiple physical locks, two-person verification, and a hallway designed to have as few “choice moments” as possible.

Mai looked at it the way she looked at a well-made weapon.

“This is sane,” she murmured.

Ace snorted. “That’s a sentence you shouldn’t say out loud.”

Mai didn’t smile. “I didn’t say safe.”

Halverson unlocked the final door. Metal. Resistance. Honest.

Inside, a small team waited—two agents and one tech, all quiet, all eyes practical, none of them trying to be charismatic at 2 p.m. on a nightmare day.

One of the agents nodded. “Bright is on HARD LINE. He’ll speak when you’re settled.”

Ace muttered, “Of course he will.”

Mai murmured back, “Don’t turn it into a ritual.”

Ace shut up.

—

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