The alarm doesn’t sound like the others, not the controlled pulse we use for drills or the sharp escalation reserved for perimeter pressure, but something lower and more intrusive that vibrates through the bones instead of ringing in the ears, and by the time my breath steadies enough for thought to catch up, the packhouse has already shifted from readiness into response. The lights flicker again, not fully failing but stuttering just enough to tell anyone paying attention that systems are being stressed from the inside, and that realization lands heavier than the sound ever could.
Adam’s hand closes around my wrist, firm and grounding rather than restraining, and the bond flares in sharp agreement, not panicked but intensely focused, like every thread of awareness has snapped into alignm
