Chapter 23 · Switch Twenty-Three

"Don't let go." Marco's hand slams over mine on the lever, and the metal's so cold it burns straight through my glove.

"Not until I say three."

"You said that last time." My teeth are chattering so hard I bite the word in half.

"Last time it died at two."

"This time it won't." The breaker panel behind us hums that dying-fridge hum, readout glowing sick green in a room gone black everywhere else — no windows, no clock, just his voice and mine and the number ticking down. SEAL INTEGRITY 25/31. I stare at it because I can't feel my own hands anymore, not really, just the shape of his fingers locked over mine, the only warm thing left in a box built to take warmth away.

"One," he says.

"Two —" The number flips. 24/31. Someone, somewhere, killed it a half-second before three.

"Son of a bitch." Marco doesn't yell it. He says it low, almost polite, the way you'd say it to a man across a table right before you break his wrist.

"He's watching the panel. Not us. The panel."

"Or he's watching both." I try to pull my hand back and it won't uncurl.