The TCA Archives were entombed deep beneath the bedrock of the capital.
Nathan followed Helena down the spiraling, claustrophobic throat of ancient grey stone. With every rotation of the staircase, the ambient temperature plummeted, the chill biting through their combat-worn gear. The vanguard followed in absolute silence—Garrett's heavy footfalls echoing off the masonry, Dillon unusually subdued, Elise walking with rigid, academic posture, and Smithy trailing at the rear, a reluctant ghost among the living.
His three summons rode with him in their base forms, Mirko rested on his shoulder, her ears twitching at the subtle shifts in air pressure. Kuro was a pocket of absolute darkness tucked into the folds of his jacket. Shiro sat perched atop his head, her golden eyes sweeping the descending gloom with the regal, unblinking focus of an apex predator evaluating a new territory.
