The air that rushed out smelled of ozone and ancient vanilla. "Flashlights up."

In the center of the room stood a second door. It wasn't attached to a wall. It was just a frame, standing solo in the middle of the void. Painted on the wood in fresh, wet crimson were the words: .

Kayla didn't laugh. She jammed a bypass chip into the keypad. The red light bled into a cautious amber. With a groan of tortured hydraulics, the door didn't slide—it unfolded . Like origami made of lead.

Should Jax and Kayla of the room, or should they search for a way to delete the script entirely?

"Where?" Jax yelled, but Kayla was already sprinting toward the free-standing door. She didn't open it. She tackled it.

He pointed his light at her feet. Kayla’s own shadow was detached from her boots, standing upright against the invisible wall, its hand raised, rapping rhythmically against the glass. "Run."

(20s, nervous, clutching a rusted crowbar) stared at the heavy iron door labeled: OP DOORS 2 – RESTRICTED ACCESS.