We reached the door and stopped.
The three women ahead of us. Sinn beside them, still cursing under his breath in a low unbroken stream, the way a man does when he's stopped talking to anyone but himself.
The corridor held the four of them and the four infected.
Max's footsteps were the last sound in that corridor.
He came around the corner unhurried with his palm already out toward the door, and the whole thing slid open before he'd finished walking.
No key. No visible mechanism. The reinforced surface simply accepted the gesture and began to move.
The gap widened onto black.
Nothing in there. No shapes, no depth, no far wall. Just an absence with cold air coming out of it.
"That's your temporary home," Max said.
"Find somewhere else." Sinn didn't move an inch. "There is no version of tonight where I sleep in that."
"I've got you, bruh."
Max put a hand on his shoulder as he went past him into the dark, easy about it, almost warm. The contact was brief and familiar.
