VIKTOR
The service duct was a coffin.
I moved through it on my elbows and knees, the metal groaning softly under my weight. The air was thick with dust and grease, clinging to my throat with every breath. Sweat dripped into my eyes. The space was barely wider than my shoulders, the ceiling pressing down like a judgment.
But I'd been in tighter spaces. Crawled through worse.
The blueprints Layla had pulled from the data stick showed this duct led directly to the maintenance corridor adjacent to the holding cells. A blind spot in the facility's internal surveillance. Sterling's arrogance. He'd built this place to keep people in, not to keep people out.
I reached the grate at the end of the duct. Peered through the slats.
Empty corridor. Concrete walls. Flickering fluorescent lights. The hum of ventilation.
