The tunnel swallowed sound, turning every step into something damp and muted. The air was close, thick with the stale tang of rust and the faint, oily stench of machinery that hadn't moved in decades. Somewhere far off, water dripped in an uneven rhythm, slow and patient, like it had been counting time long before either man set foot here.
Keller's boots found the old maglev track by feel—two parallel lines of raised steel under a film of grime. He let his eyes adjust to the dim, his pupils opening wider until he could make out the faint outlines of the service conduits along the walls. In places, the concrete was flaking away, revealing rebar skeletons beneath.
Behind him, the footsteps were still there. Steady. Even. Never rushing, never pausing. Whoever was following him was disciplined enough to match his pace exactly, keeping just the right distance so their presence was constant but never closing in too fast.
That was Lin's style.
