"Weapons?" the scout asked, his voice hushed, more out of instinct than fear.
Liliana didn't even glance back. She shook her head once, slowly, her eyes still fixed ahead. "Hosts," she said—quiet, clear, final.
Behind them, the tunnel shifted. Not with violence, but with eerie precision. The hum began as a faint vibration under their boots, then grew into a soft tone that rolled along the walls.
A shimmer passed through the air, and the entrance they'd come through was sealed.
Not with a slam, not with urgency, but with that exact kind of smooth, controlled energy that made it clear someone—or something—was watching-the kind of reaction that didn't happen by accident.
They'd used similar protocols in their own missions, especially in unstable or high-risk zones, where containment was a top priority.
It was meant to be a safeguard. But this one wasn't theirs. And whatever had triggered it, it didn't feel like it was trying to keep danger out.
