~ Caleb ~
The Northern Research Facility's detention level smelled of antiseptic and fear. I could sense both before the elevator doors even opened.
Lyra was waiting, tablet in hand, her expression taut. "Johnson's talking."
"And?" I kept my voice flat, even though the urgency was buzzing like a faulty neon sign in my head.
"It's... convenient." Lyra's tone conveyed her skepticism as we strode down the sterile corridor. "Too convenient."
The holding cell at the end of the hall was state-of-the-art: silver-infused glass walls, electromagnetic locks, biometric security. Overkill for a human, but we'd designed these facilities for containing our own kind when necessary.
Inside sat a man in his thirties, sandy-haired and unremarkable save for the split lip and bruised eye—courtesy, no do
