I was supposed to be "inspecting" the IT wing, and my whole body felt like it was burning from the inside out.
Ashur wasn't stupid. He knew I'd slipped in on orders from the Rose Organization. He also knew his freedom hinged on my survival—so he'd made sure I understood the threat.
I should've guessed. The Doctor never trusts anyone, especially after a spy was unmasked in his own machine. That meant every step I took was under a magnifying glass.
My footsteps echoed down the corridor. The cold white strip-lights scraped at my eyes—maybe because I'd been staring at the far end for too long.
What if I'd already reached the point of no return? Ashur would be transferred, and I still hadn't finished the escape plan.
So I wandered the hallway under the excuse of checking on the Purple Sector. If the Doctor and Admin Patrick were monitoring me, they'd know exactly which modules I'd been nosing around.
My gaze locked on the last door: a metallic, eggplant-colored slab that led to the surveillance control room.
Breaking Ashur out meant hacking everything in that room.
I flicked a glance at the ceiling cam and kept moving, pretending to study the equipment. Sweat pearled at my temples; my stomach clenched. Now and then a guard in a purple uniform swept past.
The hall was cool, while the main hub behind me rattled with keyboard taps. I skimmed the techs hunched at their desks and slipped by the entrance.
Biting my lip, I weighed the odds. I had to get inside that damned room. If Steven were still alive, this would've been his part of the job; all I'd have done on D-Day was kill the power.
Now I had to reach the secure electrical room room myself. Steven's intel said it held a shielded gateway into the BMS—the Building Management System. For days I'd cased the sector; I only had one chance a day to appear without suspicion.. If I blew today, the plan might die with it. I had to trick the system so that, during an emergency blackout, Ashur's cell doors would snap open automatically.
How much time did I really have? Should I go in right now? What if the Doctor or Patrick got suspicious? Honestly—was there anything left to lose?
I swallowed. The Purple Admin stepped out of the restricted room, and I drew a deep breath. Decision made—whatever it took, I was going in. Ashur's transfer was imminent; this was my last shot.
Still pretending to jot notes on my datapad, I drifted toward the door. The admin nodded politely; I nodded back, then raised my white clearance card to the handle.
My heart hammered, but my face stayed calm. The metal grip was ice-cold. Ignoring the chill, I pushed the door open and slipped inside.
I scanned the room. Steven had told the Tailor there were no cameras in here.
All I needed was a few minutes.
The room was a square, light-starved box.
Red and green LEDs blinked across the monitors, glowing like fireflies in the dark.
I dove in. Frozen fingertips, thunder-loud heartbeat—none of it mattered. I had to finish this cursed job fast.
Sliding into the supervision console, I fed the admin card into the left-hand slot.
The clearance was low, but I didn't need their hand-me-downs. A few keystrokes and I was inside the door-management panel. I glanced at the sealed iron exit, then hammered the keys again.
The encryption was middling—tricky, not tough. For someone like me, child's play. They'd never dreamed an insider could earn admin status and moonlight as both spy and hacker.
Bitter saliva pooled on my tongue. Ignoring the migraine pounding behind my temples, I traced the electronic lock channel… a handful of lines, one command—
Code injected. Access confirmed.
Good.
I yanked the keyboard closer, peeled a strip of dry skin from my lip. Was there time to ping the Tailor? Sweat beaded down my neck; I shoved damp hair behind one ear and bent to the screen.
In the error-log utility I opened a new entry. Keystrokes echoed through the hush; a drop of sweat slid down my temple, but I couldn't stop.
Message out to the Tailor and Rose Ops:
Cell door 13, Block Z, reports a fault.
Please investigate at 13:30.
Looks like routine maintenance—actually a covert note:
(Need the wake code. Urgent.)
Last time I saw the Tailor he mentioned a critical sequence—one that would shove Ashur straight into mission mode.
Steven had that wake code. I only possessed the speak code, and I'd already used it; Ashur had talked.
Now Steven was dead, and I needed that second key to jolt Ashur awake.
Maybe—just maybe—it would lift some weight off my shoulders. If Ashur sprang open the way he had with the first code, we could claw our way out together. I hoped… but faith was thin. We were neck-deep in muck.
The door clicked open behind me. I shot to my feet, notebook in hand, pasted on a smile.
The Purple-Sector admin filled the doorway. Narrow eyes pinned me; his brows knotted, gaze flicking between me and the monitor.
My pulse drummed. Heat poured off my skin; anxiety flooded my veins, my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth.
"You—"
Words rattled out of me like a pre-programmed bot.
"Is it always this dark in here? I'm trying to file a report, but I can't see a thing."
He stared, startled, then his eyes dropped to my notebook.
Boom… boom… boom…
At last he offered a thin smile, nodding. "White admins usually don't file from this room."
Striding past him, head high, I kept cool.
"Then forgive me—I'm new. Thought I had to log it here."
He dipped his head slowly. I lengthened my stride down the corridor. The cold white lights stabbed at my eyes.
With firm, measured steps—hands numb as ice—I made for the elevator.
Today I'd taken a giant stride.
One big step toward… escaping this hell.