Elias gripped the handle, sweat already starting to bead on his brow as he braced himself.
The first pull against the plate sent a screech through the room, tal against tal, sparks flashing in erratic bursts. His arms burned from the effort almost imdiately, but he kept at it, carving through the barrier with slow, grinding strokes.
Finally, the plate buckled and fell inward with a heavy clang, the sound rattling through the quarters.
A tight tunnel yawned open beyond the breach, the walls lined with thick, aged piping — the sll of damp tal and recycled water bleeding through the cracked opening.
The air inside was cooler, the space narrow and dark.
Sensors embedded along the walls humd faintly, the old systems still alive, still watching.
Elias leaned closer, Dot’s glow lighting the first few feet of the passage.
His heart hamred, the tight space beyond offering no promises — only questions.
He drew in a breath and stepped back toward the others.
"Maybe we can do sothing with this," he said, voice steady despite the pounding in his chest.
Elias gathered them without a word, his voice steadying even as his pulse refused to slow.
The pod quarters hung in dimness, the only light bleeding from the different Ikonas that flared behind each figure. Kikaru’s golden orb burned low but fierce. Faye’s music Ikona shimred with wavering notes, its hum threading faintly through the tension. Tidwell’s cloud Ikona drifted in sharp, restless curls. Paul’s shimr flickered low along the floor, worn thin with exhaustion. Junjio’s small, flickering presence barely caught the shadows, his Ikona struggling to hold shape.
Elias gestured toward his pod, the hacksaw Dot had created still glinting on the floor where he’d dropped it, faint sparks clinging to the scuffed tal nearby. The tunnel beyond the broken panel yawned upward, pipes catching the scattered Ikona light, the cramped space gleaming cold and wet.
"Found a tunnel," Elias said, his voice rough around the edges but holding firm.
Kikaru stepped forward first, her boots scraping lightly against the floor. Her Ikona flared brighter as she leaned in to peer down into the breach, suspicion written plain across the tightness in her shoulders.
"That’s our way out?" she asked, her voice sharp enough to cut.
Her gaze snapped to Elias, distrust a live wire between them, the old warnings from Asurik clawing at the back of her mind whether she admitted it or not.
Faye moved next, drifting a few cautious steps closer to the opening. Her sleepwear hung loose around her, the fabric twisted at the shoulders from her earlier scrambling. Her music Ikona humd behind her, the sound low and strained, like a lody slipping from soone trying too hard to stay calm.
"It’s tight," she said, voice soft but not collapsing, "but possible."
Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke, the cracks in her training showing through the montary calm she fought to keep.
Tidwell hung back, knife still in hand, his cloud Ikona curling tighter around him like a shield.
"Great," he muttered, voice dry and brittle. "A rat hole."
There was no edge of humor left in the words — just frustration, sharp and raw.
Paul rubbed at his eyes, his motions sluggish, the fatigue lining his fra deeper than before.
"Better than nothing," he said, his voice flat, shoulders sagging with a weary kind of acceptance.
Junjo said nothing.
He stood slightly apart from the others, his Ikona a faint, flickering shadow behind him, his wide eyes locked on the tunnel like it might swallow him whole.
Elias’s hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the broken panel, his shard pulsing slow and steady under his ribs, each throb a cold weight.
Veyra’s question dug its hooks deeper into his mind — Will you break?
He swallowed down the knot rising in his throat.
"We could help," he said, the words thick but determined. "Stop the rogues. Save the guards. Do sothing."
The words didn’t ring like a rallying cry.
They settled into the air with weight instead — heavy, real, asking for more than anyone was ready to give.
He looked at each of them — Kikaru’s doubt sharpening her stance, Faye’s hope clinging to her like a second skin, Tidwell’s cynicism carving deeper lines across his face, Paul’s quiet fatigue dragging at his fra, Junjio’s fear leaving him frozen in place.
Kikaru crossed her arms tightly across her chest, the gold of her Ikona dimming with the motion, casting only a faint halo across the floor.
"And get ourselves killed?" she snapped.
Her voice cut through the air, sharp enough to sting, and the bolt-locks’ constant hum seed to mock the suggestion, a low, chanical reminder of just how trapped they really were.
Faye shifted closer, her hair falling loose around her shoulders as she tilted her head slightly toward Elias. Her Ikona thrumd faintly behind her, a lody stripped bare, but still holding steady.
"If we can," she said, her voice soft but certain, "we should try."
Her eyes caught his and held there, the quiet weight of her support wrapping around the frayed edge of his resolve like a tether. She didn’t say more — didn’t need to. The conviction lived between them.
Behind her, Tidwell leaned lazily back against the nearest pod, his body language loose but the hard line of his jaw betraying the frustration burning underneath.
"You’re dreaming, Elias," he muttered.
The knife in his hand caught the low ergency light as it flicked upward and down again, glinting each ti like a slow trono to his irritation.
Paul pushed a hand through his hair, his Ikona flickering at his side like a sputtering fla.
"It’s a start," he said, sighing out the words like they weighed twice as much as they should have.
Near the back, Junjio stood frozen, his hands clenched into trembling fists, his Ikona little more than a flicker clinging to his shoulder. His silence filled the gaps the others left behind — loud in its own way.
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