"It's a trap."
Ronan's voice was flat, echoing slightly in the Gearhouse's briefing room. The four of them were gathered around a massive blueprint of the city's underworks, the location of Sub-station 7 circled in red ink. "The witness is conveniently left alive, but hidden away. He has just enough information to point us to a single, isolated location. This is a classic gambit."
"It's the only lead we have," Liam countered, his jaw set.
"Ronan is right," Cain said, his sharp eyes tracing the labyrinthine tunnel system on the map. "They want us to go down there. We'll be on their territory."
It was Isolde who broke the stalemate. "But they do not know what we are," she whispered, her quiet voice cutting through the tension. "They expect two investigators who have been asking questions. They do not expect the Iron Compact."
The decision was made. This was their mission, their risk to take. They briefed Captain Borin on their findings and their plan. The old Sealbearer listened without expression, his gaze hard as granite. He didn't forbid the mission, which was his version of approval. "You will go as a reconnaissance team, not an assault force," he commanded. "Your objective is to find proof and get out. Not to pick a fight."
He equipped them from his personal stores: powerful directional lanterns, encrypted communication devices, and several compact, custom-made defensive gadgets designed to counter specific supernatural threats. Greta saw them off at the maintenance hatch, clapping both Liam and Ronan on the shoulder with a force that made them grunt. "Don't die, recruits," she said, her usual boisterousness replaced by a gruff concern. "The paperwork is a nightmare."
As dusk settled over Terminus, casting long, skeletal shadows, the team of four descended through the iron hatch, leaving the familiar sounds of the city behind for the dark, forgotten depths below.