Page 130 of Dose

Nikolai makes the decision. “Proceed. Damon, prevent the transfer vehicles from reaching the site.”

We enter.

The corridor lights snap from white to red. Hidden speakers crackle above us.

“Specialist Summer. Report your position.”

Korte’s voice.

I last heard it at Ashford. My body receives the years between as if they never happened. My legs stop. My tongue presses itself flat behind my teeth.

Theon catches my forearm without dragging me forward.

“Isla.”

“Recording,” I say through the filter. “Expected.”

“Can you move?”

I make my right foot take one step. Then the left.

“Yes.”

We keep going.

The speaker follows us.

“Your compliance rating is at risk. Report for correction.”

Theon’s pace breaks this time. Half a step, nothing more, but I hear the change in his breathing.

I catch his hand.

“C-08,” the recording says. “Count backward from one hundred in Croatian.”

His fingers close around mine hard enough to hurt.

“Theon.”

“I know where I am.”

“Tell me.”

“Montana. East corridor. You on my right. Nursery ahead.”

“Good. Move with me.”

He does.

Gunfire sounds through two concrete walls. Damon reports four guards at the generator housing, two showing faster-than-baseline response and poor pain recognition. His ground team switches to impact rounds while he drops power to the transfer lift without touching the clinical ventilation.

Korte prepared the guards.

She prepared us too.

Preparation is not control.

The Nursery door is reinforced steel. Beside it, a maintenance panel counts down from one minute forty-three seconds.