A few minutes earlier.
The guard pushed open the door to the control room with a heavy metallic groan that echoed down the empty corridor like a dying man's last breath. Banks of monitors lined the walls in a relentless grid—dozens of cold, unblinking screens devouring every corner of the academy: shadowed hallways, rain-slicked courtyards, twisting stairwells, and storm-lashed rooftops.
The blue glow painted the cramped space in a sterile, clinical frost, humming with the low, incessant static of constant, merciless surveillance.
The air tasted of ozone and old coffee but...
Someone was already inside.
The realization hit him a fraction of a second too late.
A hooded figure was hunched over the main console like a predator crouched above fresh kill, fingers dancing across the keyboard with lethal, practiced grace. Dark clothing melted seamlessly into the shadows.
