52. Jonah
Jonah
T he building sounds alive.
Concrete groans overhead every few seconds.
Loose metal whispers somewhere deeper inside the collapsed wing.
Gravel shifts beneath our boots with every careful step.
Perfect.
Unstable terrain breaks predictive movement patterns.
Even ORACLE struggles with chaos.
“Stay tight,” I whisper.
My voice barely carries past the dust-filled corridor.
“Three steps behind me. Mirror my path.”
Nobody argues.
That matters.
We move one at a time through the collapsed section, bodies angled carefully through broken support beams and hanging metal.
The deeper we go, the warmer the air gets.
Wrong kind of warmth.
Artificial.
Powered.
Good.
That means we’re close.
I stop abruptly and raise one hand.
Everyone freezes instantly behind me.
There.
Faint.
Low hum beneath the concrete.
Generator.
Same frequency from Elizabeth’s video.
Sienna shifts closer behind my shoulder.
“South corridor,” she whispers.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No fear.
Just certainty.
I glance back briefly.
“Stay close to me.”
Her eyes flash immediately like she’s about to argue.
Then another groan rolls through the unstable corridor overhead and she lets it go.
For now.
We move deeper.
Slow.
Controlled.
Silent.
First turn—clear.
Second turn—
Movement flickers.
Tiny.
Wrong.
My body reacts before my brain fully catches up.
“Down—”
The suppressed shot snaps past my head so close I feel the displaced air against my cheek before the round buries itself in concrete behind us.
They found us.