The storage room was a suffocating tomb of white haze, the heavy, chemical-laden mist clinging to every surface like a damp, clinging shroud. Zeven lay on the rough, uneven floorboards, his body refusing to obey the frantic commands of his mind. Every limb felt as though it had been forged from solid iron, immovable and dead to the world. The sedative had been absolute, a masterful chemical strike that had stripped him of his defenses and left him shivering in the cooling air. Beside him, Rey remained perfectly still, a discarded mannequin of metal and failed circuitry, his lightless eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Then, the silence of the room was broken.
It began with a sound that seemed to bypass the ears and resonate directly in the bones. It was the slow, rhythmic strike of heavy, metal-
