Chapter 42
They made the approach to the core two abreast, Juniper running silent probability sweeps, Calliope pinging every camera or IR trip with a finger as she passed. The architecture changed here—less ad hoc, more like a bunker someone had obsessed over for years. The air ducts now hissed with regulated pressure, and the haze was replaced with an acrid, almost animal smell: sweat, old plastic, something alive and rank under the antiseptic.
