The tunnel felt colder on the way out.
No gunfire followed them.
No ambush.
Just silence.
Mark walked ahead of Devon and Ifizi without speaking. His steps were steady, but his mind was not.
Alive.
The word repeated in his head like an echo in an empty room.
When they reached the street level, the city noise returned—distant traffic, faint music from somewhere far off, the normal rhythm of Metro City pretending nothing had shifted underground.
Devon grabbed his arm once they reached the alley.
“Say something.”
Mark stopped.
Rainwater dripped from a broken pipe beside them.
“You saw the footage,” Mark said quietly.
“It could be fake.”
“It looked real.”
“That doesn’t mean it is.”
Ifizi watched both of them carefully.
“The Brotherhood lies for leverage,” she said. “Victor Hale
