The corridor swallowed the armory door behind them, and for a while the only sound was the soft scrape of boots on tired metal and the distant hum of systems that were running more on stubbornness than power.
Xu Qianghua led without rushing, but he also did not wander; every turn felt chosen, every pause felt like a test, as if he was letting the ship show its habits the way a man might watch an animal to see when it would bite.
Xin stayed close to the wall, eyes tracking symbols and panels, trying to build a map in his head of a place that did not follow Nexera's logic, while Wuying moved a step ahead when the corridor narrowed, his spiritual sense brushing forward like a cautious hand feeling for a hidden blade.
Han said nothing for a long stretch, but his silence wasn't empty either, it was the kind that came from an old man watching young men learn how quickly a situation can turn.
