Chapter 6 · That's not standard rail hardware

He dropped to one knee beside the brake housing and tore away the metal cover with a short wrench.

The panel beneath was packed with wires, valves, and a thin strip of etched steel.

I crouched beside him. "That's not standard rail hardware."

"It was added after the last coup attempt."

"You expect me to believe your command installed a lock inside the emergency brakes?"

"I expect you to read it."

The strip carried stress marks nearly hidden beneath the grease. Lines crossed at sharp angles, then broke and rejoined near the valve stem.

My old work.

Not my design, but my method. Someone had copied the way I mapped fractures in damaged rails.

"Who built this?" I asked.

"You tell me."

"I need the iron case."

He glanced toward the private car. "No."

"Then we crash."

"There's another way."

"You said you needed the case code."

"I said I needed you."

The words came out flat. Like an order.

They still caught under my ribs.

I held out my hand. "Give me your knife."

"Why?"

"I need blood."

His eyes dropped to my palm. "No."

"The lock is reading pressure and body heat. Your gloves won't trigger it.