The bunker was desert-silent. Zora stepped inside with Micah and Senn, her face pale and her fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. The others had already seen the broadcast—how could they not? It was citywide. Moira's trembling voice and the command to surrender were burned into their memories now, like a curse none could unhear.
No one said a word at first, and Senn was the first to speak, trying to cut through the weight in the room. "We can't just sit here like frightened rats. Horam wants to provoke fear... well, screw that. We give him a reason to regret broadcasting anything at all. What if we trick him into thinking we're surrendering to draw him out—"
"No," Zora interrupted immediately. "That won't work."
All eyes turned to her.
She inhaled shakily and walked toward the table in the middle of the war room. "Horam isn't just cruel; he's very calculated and manipulative. He'll see through any act, especially if it involves me."
Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on.
"We need to get ahead of him. That means infiltrating his network. If we can trace the origin of the broadcast signal, we might locate where he's keeping her or at least get closer."
Micah stepped forward, with concern laced in his tone. "That's dangerous. He's tightened his grid, and every node is heavily monitored."
"I know," Zora said. "But it's our only shot."
She tapped on the side of the old virtual map, and the flickering projection sputtered to life, displaying the eastern chamber of Songrin. Her mechanical fingers moved over the interface, zooming in on an inner ring fortress that revealed Horam's primary command zone.
"I remember this place," she muttered. "I grew up there before all this happened." Her gaze was more focused now. "I know a few of the hidden service tunnels that the old technicians built. If they haven't been sealed, we might have a chance."
Vektar narrowed his eyes. "We? You're not going alone."
Zora looked at Micah and gave him a firm nod. "Micah goes with me, and it'll be just the two of us. A smaller presence is easier to disguise, and it'll help us blend in, extract the information we need, and get out.
"But what about your body?" Senn asked, hesitant. "You're... kind of glowing in the dark these days."
Zora allowed a ghost of a smile. "I'll wear a cloak, something that masks my chassis and signature. Micah will too. We'll play scavenger traders heading toward the sales pubs. No one questions scum."
There was a beat of silence, and then one by one, the rebels around her nodded, some in fear, others in pride.
She disappeared briefly into the weapons chamber and emerged wearing her old cloak—fitted, dusty, and lined with signal dampeners. Micah followed suit, his hood drawn low and his face shaded.
As they moved towards the exit tunnel, Senn caught up to her. "Don't do anything stupid in there."
Zora paused. "No promises." Micah chuckled. "She means we'll only do the good kind of stupid." Zora smirked and turned to the rest of the group. "We'll be back with answers and hopefully… with my mother." With that, they slipped into the tunnel's yawning darkness, two shadows on a path no map could chart toward the place Zora once called home, now riddled with danger and ghosts.