Chapter 9 · The Architect’s Blueprint

The maintenance tunnel swallowed the last echo of the arena. For three breaths, there was only darkness, the metallic tick of cooling pipes, and Beckett Thorne’s ragged cough beneath the hiss of his damaged restraint collar. Then the tunnel walls woke. A thin line of gold opened beneath Nora’s boots and ran ahead through the dust like a fuse.

It stopped at a sealed door twenty paces away. Behind them, something struck the blast shutters. Once. Twice. On the third impact, the entire passage shuddered. Kane braced one hand against the wall. Blue-white lightning crawled beneath his skin, turning the planes of his face sharp and ghostly.

His other hand was clamped over his ribs, where the thunder core pulsed like a second heart. Nora’s left wrist throbbed inside its splint. Every beat sent needles up her arm, but she tightened her fingers around the black obsidian file. The stolen document felt colder than the tunnel.

“Tell me that door opens,” Beckett said. His voice had recovered its usual dry edge, but his eyes remained fixed on the collar circling his throat.

“Tell me the hunters behind us are the sort of people who respect locked doors.