Chapter 8 · Mom's Countdown

The lift keeps falling. Mara counts the seconds because the panel's dead and Kade's timer is screaming eight hours in red.

She braces against the wall, cold steel under her palms. The air smells like old grease and burnt wiring. Kade's standing too close. Not touching, but she can feel the heat off his shoulder, the way his breath evens out when he's trying not to move.

"Where are we going?" she asks.

He doesn't answer. His jaw's set, eyes fixed on the seam of the doors like he's waiting for them to split open and spit out a firing squad.

The lift jerks. Stops.

Doors hiss apart.

Mara steps out into a hallway that shouldn't exist. Clean white tiles. LED strips in the ceiling, humming soft and steady. No rust, no graffiti, no smell of piss or old blood. Just cold corporate sterile, the kind that makes her stomach twist because it means money, and money means people who don't want you asking questions.

Kade moves ahead. She follows because she's already here, already past the point where running makes sense.

The hall curves. At the end, a door. Brushed steel, no handle, just a palm reader glowing blue.