The Ironheart Foundry was a cathedral of rust. Giant crucibles, like skeletal iron flowers, stood silent under the perpetual twilight. The air smelled of old metal and ozone.
Sage moved carefully, his work-light dimmed. According to the map, the entrance to the lower tunnels was behind a collapsed ore-hopper.
"You took your time."
Valentine stepped from behind a support column, her arms crossed. She wore dark, practical gear, her ration canteens securely fastened. She looked furious.
"Val? How did you—?"
"Rex 'accidentally' mentioned your potential re-assignment to me, 'for morale support,'" she said, her voice tight. "Regina sent a formal notice of data-wipe confirmation to our shared log. And you've been accessing offline maps for twelve hours. You're being spontaneous and careless. Which means you're following a lead. The only lead we have."
She wasn't there to stop him. She was there to organize his chaos.
"It's dangerous," Sage said. "If they catch us—"
"If they catch you, you'll talk in five minutes," she stated. "I'm here to ensure we don't get caught. Now, where's this entrance? The longer we stand here, the higher the probability of patrols."
Stunned, Sage led her to the ore-hopper. With a grunt of effort, they shifted a rusted panel, revealing a dark, square opening. A cool, damp breath of air sighed out—a smell utterly foreign in the desiccated world: wet stone.
Valentine checked her scanner. "No Vitae-powered surveillance signatures. Ancient air-circulation only. It's a dead zone." She looked at Sage. "That's why he chose it."
They descended a corroded ladder into the dark.