The small equipment maintenance alcove tucked behind the structural layout of the shooting range was cramped, smelling heavily of damp rust, ionized air, and copper polish. Dim fluorescent tubes flickered overhead, casting a cold, greenish tint over the greasy workbench where Delon sat. His breath still came in shallow, uneven gasps as he worked a coarse piece of cloth over his chest plate, trying to wipe away the dark carbon scoring left by the sudden electrical explosion.
Erica stepped into the alcove, the metal threshold grooving under her heavy combat boots as she carrying a secondary toolkit. She did not look angry, nor did she display the fierce defensiveness she usually wore like armor out in the main corridors. Instead, she quietly tossed a fresh tube of thermal paste onto the m
