The subterranean levels of the WIPO monolith were a study in sensory deprivation. There was no air conditioning hum, no flickering fluorescent tubes, only the oppressive, pressurized silence of a tomb built from brushed titanium and reinforced polymer.
Seraphina moved through the final transit corridor, her boots making no sound on the acoustic-dampening floor. Behind her, the Architect held a thermal scanner like a shield, his eyes fixed on the invisible laser lattice that crisscrossed the hallway. Sloane and Vane remained at the secondary bulkhead, maintaining the digital "loop" that fed the security hub a looped recording of an empty hallway.
"Six meters," the Architect whispered, his voice a dry rasp in the dark. "The floor is weighted to five grams. If you shift your center of gravi
