The corridor behind the auxiliary panel was narrow, unfinished — a service passage not meant for personnel transit. Exposed wiring. Raw concrete. Dim emergency lumen-strips casting skeletal light. It didn’t feel like a hallway; it felt like an escape route someone never expected to be used.
Adrian guided her through without touching her hand again — not out of distance, but because both of them understood the truth now: if someone was recording illegally, even proximity could be shaped into narrative. Every step they took had to be intentional — theirs, not harvested as evidence.
“Where does this lead?” she whispered.
“A secure wing built before the modernization overhaul,” he said, scanning the walls for tamper triggers. “It predates the surveillance net. It wasn’t folded into Division
