The underground Archival Monitoring Center never appeared on any municipal mandated evacuation plan.
Banks of screens covered one curved wall, displaying live feeds from vault corridors, greenhouse terraces, containment chambers, archive elevators, and restricted collection wings buried beneath the city. Low lighting kept glare off the monitors. Coffee cups sat beside keyboards. Half-finished reports were scattered across desks occupied by analysts who looked like they hadn't left their stations in hours.
The room quieted the moment Cael Alexander entered.
Not because he was loud.
Because he never came down here unless something had gone very wrong.
Galathea Brooks stepped through the security doors beside him.
Several analysts looked up.
Their attention lingered a fraction too long.
Not on her.
On the fact that she was here.
The offsite storage attack had already circulated through restricted channels. Nobody knew the details yet, but everyone understood one thing.
