Josh closed the door to the upper systems room and turned the manual lock.
Jules was already there, sitting cross-legged on the low table, tablet in one hand, eyes sharp and unreadable.
"Tell me you saw that," he said.
Jules didn't look up. "He knew where the seam was. He wasn't just pacing. That hand-check was deliberate."
Josh scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I keep going back over the footage. It's the only place in the entire cell where the wall intersects with anything mechanical."
"Not a lot of people would know that."
"Exactly."
Jules leaned back, her mouth a thin line. "So either he's a savant with vent schematics or someone told him."
Josh sat down across from her. "And if someone told him, they did it expecting him to get this far."
"Or they didn't expect him to survive," Jules said darkly. "And now he's bonus leverage."
They were both quiet for a moment. The hum of emergency batteries pulsed low and steady beneath the floor.
"You think he's the breach?" Josh asked finally.
Jules tilted her head. "He could be. Or he could be a breadcrumb. Either way, if that quarantine door opens without us keyed in—"
"I know," Josh said, cutting her off. "That's why I had Boris help me reroute the door locks to internal override only. One manual input now. No outside access."
Jules nodded slowly. "And you triple-auth on the control panel passwords?"
"Yeah. You and me. Nobody else."
"Good." She paused. "He knows Jessi. He's playing the long game. If he's a Trojan Horse…"
Josh's jaw tightened. "Then the next 24 hours are our countdown."
She met his eyes across the dark room.
"Then we watch. And we do not blink."
--
The shift light dimmed from orange to red, indicating night cycle. Jessi didn't notice.
She sat cross-legged in the corridor, her back against the cold concrete wall outside quarantine, hoodie bunched beneath her neck like a pillow. She hadn't moved in over an hour.
Ty was still awake inside.
He paced again, slow, deliberate steps — one hand trailing along the seam where wall met floor.
Just like earlier.
She told herself it didn't mean anything.
He was anxious. That's all. Stir crazy. Who wouldn't be? Locked in a sterilized cell with nothing but filtered water and heated broth.
But Jules had noticed.
Josh had definitely noticed.
They were watching him now like he was a live wire.
And Jessi—she was stuck somewhere between memory and warning.
"Hey," Ty said, voice barely audible through the vent strip. "You still out there?"
She hesitated. Then pushed herself to her feet and walked to the edge of the glass.
"Yeah."
He smiled — that same crooked, boyish grin she remembered from late-night cram sessions and residence game nights.
"You okay?" he asked.
She wanted to ask the same of him.
Instead: "You keep touching that spot on the wall."
He blinked. "What? No—just… grounding myself. I get dizzy if I sit still too long."
She nodded, but her stomach turned.
"You really think I'm dangerous?" he asked quietly, like he already knew the answer.
Jessi stepped closer to the glass. "I think you've been through something awful."
He swallowed hard.
"I think you're scared," she said. "And I think maybe… you're not telling us everything."
Ty's smile faltered.
Behind her, a security cam pivoted with a soft mechanical chirp. She didn't turn. Didn't need to.
She knew Josh was watching. She hoped Jules was too.
"I want to believe you," Jessi whispered.
Ty didn't answer. Just sat on the cot, curling his hands between his knees.
And for the first time since he'd arrived… he didn't look relieved to see her.
He looked like he was calculating something.
"Ty," Jessi said softly. "What happened to your brother?"
He looked up slowly from the cot, a slight wrinkle forming between his brows.
"I told you," he said. "We got separated."
"That's not what you said when you first got here. You said he didn't make it."
He paused just a little too long.
"I meant he didn't make it," he said. "I barely did."
Jessi leaned a shoulder against the glass, arms crossed tight over her ribs.
"I remember the last time I saw you," she said, voice low. "Right before the lockdowns. You were wearing that awful green jacket. I teased you about it in the elevator."
Ty grinned faintly. "Said I looked like a jalapeño."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You were supposed to meet me for coffee the next week."
"I know," he said, and this time his voice dropped, softened like worn flannel. "I was going to. But then everything happened so fast — lockdowns, power outages, streets closing down. I thought about it, Jess. All the time. You were the last person who made me feel... like I wasn't alone."
She stared at him, throat tightening.
"This could be our second chance," he said. "Don't you think it's kind of… cosmic?"
"Cosmic," she echoed, her tone flat.
Ty stood slowly, crossing the room. He put his hand on the plexiglass, palm open. "You know me."
"I thought I did," she whispered.
"I was going to ask you out again," he said. "I didn't stop thinking about it. About you. That night at the res lounge? We talked for four hours. You remember that?"
She did.
He was charismatic. Funny. Sweet.
But something was off now. Not just in the hesitations, but in how hard he was trying to remind her who he used to be.
She didn't move.
"You don't have to be scared of me," he said.
"I'm not scared," she said. "I'm cautious."
Then, again: "What happened to your brother?"
Ty's jaw flexed.
"I told you."
"No," she said, stepping forward, voice firmer. "You evaded. Did he die? Did he get left behind? Or is he still out there?"
Something flickered in his eyes.
"I don't think you want to know," he said.
The hair on her arms stood on end.
She took a small step back, pulse climbing.
"I'll check in later," she said, turning quickly.
"Jessi," Ty called, but she didn't stop.
As she left the corridor, she didn't see the way his hand curled into a fist against the wall, or the ghost of a smile that twitched at the edge of his mouth.