They reached the substation by nightfall.
It was buried beneath what used to be an old weather facility on the outskirts of Redstone Ridge. The concrete entrance was hidden beneath a thicket of overgrowth, vines and brambles swallowing the metal hatch whole.
Anais was the first to spot the symbol carved into the rusted surface: three lines forming a triangle.
Julien wiped the grime away. “That’s Violin’s mark.”
Cassian moved ahead without hesitation, pulling the door open. The air that escaped was stale, thick with the scent of earth and forgotten secrets.
He motioned for Anais and Maris to go first.
“Stay close,” he said.
Inside, the station stretched far deeper than it looked. What had once been a surveillance room had been repurposed—concrete floors scrubbed, equipment half-strip
