The atrium cameras begin rebooting behind Vesper, red glyphs stuttering back to life. The ripperdoc remains beside the kiosk, her neural rig folded beneath the charcoal coat.
A service access panel irises open. Razor emerges from the dark, electric-blue crest catching the emergency light, his twin blades concealed beneath his jacket as he signals toward a maintenance corridor.
Razor
Move. The police cipher is broadcasting a location ping, and every corporate sensor will soon know where the shard is.
The black memory shard pulses in Vesper’s grip. Fragmented text crawls across its surface: HENRY KATZADOULOS. FIONA KATZADOULOS. LAZARUS PROTOTYPE: NIGHT SHEATH.
Razor
That designation is why people are dying. Lazarus built only two night-sheath prototypes, and the recording identifies the Katzadouloses as the victims.
Behind them, the ripperdoc watches without following. The corridor’s maintenance lights flicker awake in sequence, revealing cable trays, coolant pipes, and a narrowing route beneath the tower.
Razor
You can question me in there. Right now, choose whether we outrun the ping or let the police and Lazarus converge on us.
Escape the corporate sensor net
Uncover what happened to Henry and Fiona Katzadoulos