The silence radiating from the heavy mahogany doors was worse than the screeching hard-light shields. Will tasted copper and old sweat. His heart hammered against his cracked ribs. The Sector 1 Apex Corridor was a frozen slaughterhouse. Frost painted the synthetic marble. Shattered gold shards of Tier-3 magic dissolved into the biting air. Fifty Corporate mages lay dead in rigid, locked formations.
They didn't die defending the vault. Don's revelation hung in the sub-zero chill. Cross fed his people into a meat grinder just to stall the Vanguard for four precise minutes to meet a mandated Service Level Agreement.
Will reacted on pure territorial instinct. He didn't pause to run a mental spreadsheet. He didn't weigh the tactical variables. He stepped over Cross's stiffening body and marched directly to the towering double doors. Raw adrenaline vibrated in his jaw. He drove his heavy boot directly into the center seam.
The wood rejected the kinetic force.
