The stairwell spiraled tighter the farther down they went. Every turn felt like a narrowing throat. Frost clung to the railings and steps, hairline cracks spreading in the ice like veins under glass. The air here wasn't just cold. It was sterile, abandoned, sharp in the lungs like something that had been filtered too many times for too long. Not dead — preserved.
Each level felt more forgotten than the last.
Nico exhaled, fogging his visor, and tugged his collar higher. "This feels like the beginning of every horror film I've ever avoided."
"Cryo ops were shut down twelve years ago," Hernan said. His voice didn't register the joke. "Officially."
Gemini didn't speak. She walked slower now, her boots almost silent on the metal. She kept glancing upward — not for threats, but as if something might come uncoiled behind them. Not fear. Anticipation.
