Chapter 31: Moving Hours

Zane POV

"It’s happening sooner," Marcus said as he passed the cell door without stopping and I froze in the center of my cell, my body locking up before my brain could even process it and he did not turn his head, his voice low and clipped, and then he kept walking and I stayed still for a long moment, counting his steps fading down the corridor, trying to make sense of the words he had just thrown at me like a grenade and then I whispered to myself, "Tomorrow morning? Not four days?"

I moved after he was gone, moving slowly to the panel, fingers trembling, opening it, staring into the shaft and thinking of nothing else but every step, every move, every breath, and I slid inside, moving faster than I had before, pushing past the dizziness, pressing my hands to the walls to stay upright when my legs threatened to give, and I whispered, "Come on, come on, come on," because the darkness was swallowing everything and I had to focus, had to survive, had to reach Junction C before anyone even knew what was happening.

I reached the junction and waited, counting the minutes in my head, listening to the hum of the facility above, the faint clatter of machinery, the distant footsteps of guards, the quiet echoing of every shadow, and seven minutes later Marcus arrived, breathing hard, sweat glinting in the dim light, and I said, "What happened?" and he said, "One of the outside buyers requested an accelerated demonstration. Owen agreed last night. Harvesting suite ready by six. Nyla moves at seven."

My chest tightened and I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, "Eight hours. That’s all we have. Eight hours to get everything right."

Marcus nodded once and leaned against the shaft wall. "Draper confirmed the shaft reaches the exterior at Sub-Level One through the emergency pressure release hatch. Hasn’t been used in six years. Sealed but not locked from the inside. Beyond it is the service road for facility supply deliveries. Unmanned between ten p.m. and five a.m."

I exhaled slowly and ran a hand over my face. "That’s enough for the path. That’s all the path we need. The alarm goes off at four, Dr. Voss opens Nyla’s door during the twelve-minute window, she moves through to Sub-Level Eight, collects her mother, we meet at the lateral junction, move to Sub-Level One, through the hatch, service road, eight hours and every single step has to go exactly right."

Marcus shifted his weight. "Can you physically make it through the shaft in your current condition?"

I did not answer immediately. I did not want to admit weakness, did not want to show fear. I said instead, "What about you? What are you doing after they’re gone?"

Marcus was quiet for a long moment, and then he said, "I have a sister in the city. Been thinking about her lately. Wondering if she even remembers me."

I looked at him through the grate, silent for a moment, and said, "Then go see her. After we do this, you leave and you survive. That’s what matters. Don’t stay here for me. Don’t stay for anyone. Leave before Owen traces it back to you."

Marcus nodded once. "I will."

I pressed my hand to the metal grate and whispered, "Trigger the alarm and get out. I’ll handle the rest."

He gave a short nod, turned, and left the shaft, his footsteps fading until they were gone and the facility settled back into an uneasy quiet, the kind of quiet that hums and vibrates under your skin, and I moved back through the shaft toward my cell, my mind running through every step, every turn, every calculation, every timing, imagining Nyla moving through the corridor, imagining her reaching her mother, imagining the lateral junction, imagining the hatch, imagining the service road and the dark open air and freedom and every single possibility running through my head in a flood I could not stop.

I lay down on the floor of my cell when I returned, staring at the ceiling, counting every shadow, listening to every sound, trying to keep my body still when my mind refused, and I whispered, "Eight hours. Eight hours and we move everything into place. Every breath, every step, every moment has to be perfect."

The silence stretched and I whispered again, "Nyla, hold on. Voss, be ready. We have to do this exactly right. No mistakes, no delays, no hesitation. Every second counts."

I traced the lines of the panel with my fingers, memorizing every wire, every vent, every junction, and I whispered aloud, "Alarm at four, door open at four oh three, Nyla moves to Eight, lateral junction, meet me there, move to One, hatch, service road, eight hours, all steps, no mistakes."

I rolled onto my side, resting my forehead against the floor, and said, "I don’t care what it takes, what it costs, what happens. We move tonight. We will move everything tonight."

The shadows of the corridor shifted beyond the small window, distant footsteps, mechanical hums, a faint echo of life above and I whispered, "Marcus, if you’re out there, if you can hear me, do it now. Trigger it. Get out before anyone sees."

I imagined the alarms blaring, lights flickering, guards rushing to mechanical levels, twelve minutes for everything to clear, twelve minutes for Voss to reach Nyla, twelve minutes for her to reach her mother, twelve minutes for us to execute the plan with every fraction of precision I had memorized, and I whispered, "Twelve minutes. That’s all we have. Twelve minutes to get her. Twelve minutes to move everything. I cannot fail."

The quiet pressed in again and I whispered, "I am ready. I have been ready. Every move, every calculation, every moment has been in my head for months. Every step I take has been rehearsed. Every shadow, every vent, every hatch, every service road, every corridor, every alarm, every second. I am ready."

I shifted slightly on the floor and said, "Marcus, trigger it. Get out. I’ll do the rest. I don’t care what happens. I’ll handle it."

A faint echo seemed to answer me and I whispered, "Good. Then we start. Tonight, we move everything. Nyla, hold on. Mother, hold on. Voss, be ready. Eight hours. Every second. We go exactly right."

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling, counting the lights, counting the shadows, counting every sound, every vibration, every possible movement through the facility in my head and whispered, "No mistakes. Every step has to work. Every alarm, every vent, every door, every hatch. If anything fails, we fail. We cannot fail. We will not fail."

I pressed my hands against my chest and whispered, "I can do this. I have to. I will do this. Nyla, I am coming for you. Your mother, I am coming for her. Eight hours, we move everything. We will move everything."

The shadows shifted again, distant footsteps, mechanical hum, the building breathing around me, and I whispered, "Marcus, get out. Trigger it. Go. Before Owen sees. I’ll meet you at the junction. Eight hours. Everything. Do not fail. Get out."

The corridor remained still, the silence humming under the floor and I said, "Eight hours. That’s it. That’s all we have. Every second, every movement, everything has to be perfect. Nyla, I am coming. Be ready."

And then I whispered one last time, voice low but urgent, "Marcus, you’re gone now. I am moving. We go tonight. We move everything. Eight hours, and every single one of them has to go exactly right."