The white corridors of the holding block stretched forward like a sterile throat, swallowing the sound of Zeta’s footsteps. He moved with a predatory grace, his senses tuned to the subtle shifts in the air pressure and the faint, high-frequency hum of the security sensors embedded in the ceiling panels. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to react to a threat that he knew was orchestrated by Vane. He reached the heavy, reinforced door of the cell block, a structure of matte-black alloy that seemed to absorb the light of the hallway. He paused, his hand hovering over the interface panel, and felt the familiar, biting cold of the system trying to lock him out.
"Easy now," Zeta whispered, his voice a low vibration that barely stirred the stagnant air. He extended his consciousness,
