The silence in the sub-basement of the abandoned research facility was a heavy, pressurized weight. We were miles away from the burning remains of the backlot, hidden in the concrete bowels of an old Cold War-era bunker. Reaper led the way, his flashlight beam cutting through the gloom to reveal stacks of rusted data reels and heavy-duty shipping crates marked with the same silver hawk logo as the Norton.
Dax walked beside me, his hand resting on the grip of his sidearm. The air here was cool and filtered. We reached a heavy, circular vault door made of reinforced steel.
"The key, Mia," Dax said, nodding toward the silver emblem I’d recovered from the bridge.
I stepped forward, my fingers trembling as I slid the silver key into the hidden port. The mechanism groaned a deep, metallic sou
