The generator dies where the countdown once ticked. For one breath, Pier Nine goes dead silent, then the whole foundation answers with a low, sickening groan.

The sequence was never a seal. It was a charge.

Red light blooms under the hatch, no longer pulsing, now a hard glare blasting through the seams as the floor shudders beneath Dallas Fontaine and Clara.

A steel support pops somewhere below with a cannon crack. Dust sheets off the beams. The hatch bucks as if something huge is shouldering it from beneath, and the pier starts to sink around it.

Clara stumbles back, staring at the blazing hatch. Dallas has less than a second to choose between the opening below and the death rattle above.

Dallas snaps two fingers toward the dark service lane, and Murderbone lunges forward on the signal. The shepherd takes the lead, claws skidding on wet concrete as the floor groans under them.

Clara freezes for a half beat, then jerks after them as another beam cracks below. Dust blasts up through the seams, and the hatch flare turns the yard white.

Murderbone hits the first clear path and looks back once, barking for Dallas to follow. Behind them, the cargo yard tilts with a long metallic scream.

A stack of crates slams sideways near the loading edge, blocking the straight route. The only open ground is a narrow strip along the rail, leading toward the far gate.

Clara stops short at the sight of it, breathless and pale, while Murderbone crouches at the start of the strip, ready to run it. The collapse keeps working, and the path is either now or never.

Dallas hits the rail strip at Murderbone’s shoulder, boots skimming the slick edge as the cargo yard drops away behind them. The white flare from the hatch washes over splintered concrete and bent steel.

Clara hesitates at the split second of open ground, then commits and runs after them, arms tucked tight as dust rains from the sagging beams overhead.

Murderbone threads the narrow strip first, tail low, head forward, and Dallas matches his line without breaking stride. The far gate looms through the glare.

Behind them, the cargo yard answers with a deep metallic crack. One support gives way somewhere under the hatch, and the whole deck shudders hard enough to rattle the rail.

Dallas reaches the gate line as the strip buckles behind him. Clara stumbles into the same opening a breath later, and Murderbone wheels to hold the gap, snarling back into the collapsing yard.

The white light from the hatch pulses once more, then the pier lurches with a grinding groan that sounds like a verdict. The way out is in front of them, but the structure is giving up under their feet.