Ty lay on his back in the comfort of his new higher-rank room, staring at the cracked concrete ceiling.
The bed was better—thicker mattress, actual sheets that didn't reek of mildew—but sleep still refused to come.
The same thoughts circled endlessly: the locked metal door, the three fleshbounds that had been dragged into the restricted levels weeks ago, Kara's sudden disappearance, and Noah's unreadable stare from the balcony.
He rolled onto his side, then onto his other side. The silence of the underground facility at night pressed in around him which made his thoughts even more louder. It was only partially broken by the distant hum of generators and the occasional faint clang of metal.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw that heavy, reinforced door with its thick bolts and glowing red lock panel.
Whatever was behind it felt like the center of everything wrong with this place… and with Noah.
Eventually Ty sat up. The decision formed slowly, then solidified. He couldn't keep waiting for answers to fall into his lap. If he wanted the truth, he would have to go looking for it himself.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. The concrete floor was cold under his bare feet.
Ty pulled on a pair of baggy dark-grey pants that hung low on his hips, leaving his torso bare.
No shirt.
No shoes.
Less noise that way.
He clipped a small utility knife to the waistband out of habit, then quietly unlatched his door and slipped into the corridor.
The residential level was dimly lit by emergency strips along the floor.
Night patrols moved in predictable patterns —Ty had memorized most of them over the past weeks of careful observation.
He waited until a pair of guards passed the far junction, then ghosted in the opposite direction, sticking close to the walls where the shadows were deepest.
His heart beat steady but hard. Every soft scuff of his bare feet against concrete sounded too loud in his own ears. Twice he froze as distant footsteps approached, pressing himself into doorways until the sound faded.
Once he nearly collided with a lone guard turning a corner early; he dropped into a crouch behind a stack of empty crates and held his breath until the man moved on, muttering about coffee.
The deeper he moved into the restricted wing, the colder the air became. The walls here still carried old faded biohazard markings. The ceiling lights flickered more often. Ty's skin prickled with the sense that he was walking somewhere he was never meant to be.
Finally the corridor opened into a short dead-end hallway.
At the far end stood the door.
It was even more imposing up close than he remembered. Thick reinforced steel, scarred by age and violence.
Multiple heavy horizontal bolts. Two separate keyholes set into a heavy plate, each clearly requiring its own unique key. Three digital keypads arranged in a triangle, their small screens glowing a dull red.
No hinges visible from this side. No obvious weak points.
Ty approached slowly, every sense stretched tight. He pressed his ear against the cold metal and closed his eyes, listening.
Nothing.
Only the faint vibration of distant machinery.
He ran his fingertips along the seams, testing for give, for any gap he could exploit. The steel was seamless and solid. He tried the edges of the keypads, looking for loose panels.
Nothing.
Frustration curled in his chest. He was about to step back when he heard it—low voices approaching from a side corridor.
Ty moved instantly.
He slipped behind a thick structural pillar that jutted out from the wall and pressed himself flat against the concrete, heart slamming against his ribs.
Two sets of boots stopped directly in front of the metal door.
"…how much longer are we supposed to wait?" one voice muttered. It was muffled by a mask, but the tension in it was clear. "Nade is getting more unstable by the day. The veins. The blackouts. He's losing control."
"Keep your voice down," the second man answered. This one sounded more authoritative, the kind of voice used to being obeyed. "You don't question the timeline. You follow it."
"I'm just saying. If we wait too long, there won't be anything left to take over. The fleshbound experiments are making him worse, not better. You saw what happened last week with the new specimens."
There was a pause. The authoritative voice lowered further. "Just shut it. When I give the signal, Nade goes down. Quietly if possible. Loudly if necessary. The Pride will need leadership after that. Leadership that isn't half-mutated and half-mad."
"And the boy?" the first man asked. "The one who calms him? The sharpshooter?"
"He's a complication. If he gets in the way, he becomes a problem. For now, leave him alone. I have a plan for him."
The two men remained for another minute, speaking in lower tones Ty couldn't quite catch—something about codes and a secondary exit. Then their boots moved away, fading down the corridor until silence returned.
Ty stayed hidden for a long time after they left, breathing shallowly.
His mind raced.
A rebellion. A rat inside the Pride. Someone planning to kill Noah—Nade—and take over.
The thought should have brought him satisfaction.
Noah was dangerous.
Unstable.
A monster who had hurt him, used him, claimed him without permission. Part of Ty still wanted to see him fall.
But another part—the part that remembered the boy who he once carried on his back through the early days before the outbreak, who shared the last protein bar, who used to fall asleep with his head on Ty's shoulder— twisted painfully at the idea of Noah dying.
That boy was gone.
The man who remained was something else entirely. And yet the thought of him being killed still hurt in a way Ty hated.
He stayed crouched behind the pillar until his legs began to cramp, then slowly straightened.
The corridor was empty again. A plan began to form inside Ty's head. If he went to Noah with this information—if he warned him about the rat—Noah might start to trust him.
Trust could open doors.
It could get him closer to the inner circle.
Closer to the truth behind the locked door.
Closer to finding a real way out of this place.
Or, if necessary, closer to ending Noah himself on his own terms.
Ty turned away from the door and began the long, careful journey back through the facility, this time heading toward the upper residential levels where Noah's private quarters were.
The corridors grew quieter the higher he climbed.
Fewer night patrols. Better lighting. The air even smelled cleaner.
Ty moved like a shadow, sticking to the edges, listening for any approaching footsteps. Twice he had to duck into alcoves when distant voices echoed. His bare feet made almost no sound on the polished concrete.
When he finally reached the reinforced door of Noah's quarters, he stopped. He stood there for a long minute, one hand resting lightly against the cold metal, memories rising even if he tried to push them back down.
The first time Noah had dragged him in after smelling Jax on him. The shower. The night the aphrodisiac had burned through his system and Noah had taken him again and again until the black veins disappeared. The way Noah's face had looked almost human when the pain left him.
Ty closed his eyes and forced the images down. He couldn't afford to get lost in them now.
He drew a slow breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed the door open.