The hallway felt colder this far from the barracks—abandoned, almost. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting pale shadows that danced along the cracked concrete floor.
Winter moved quietly, his boots soft against the ground, every step a practised balance of speed and caution.
He reached the back room of what used to be an admin building—its door long since ripped off, replaced with a patched-up metal sheet held together by scrap and prayer. He knocked twice, then once more.
A pause.
Then the door creaked open just enough to reveal a cautious set of eyes—Miles. He opened it wider once he saw who it was.
"You're late," he muttered, stepping aside. His voice was low, but the tension in it was obvious. "We thought something happened."
