25th February, Stellar Year 2924
Verdaxis
The safe house echoed with approaching steps.
Dylan moved through the dim corridor without haste, yet without waste. Silence had long ago become his second pulse. The walls were stone-veined and damp with the breath of Verdaxis' underground canals, their faint mineral scent clinging to the air. A single suspended lamp cast a pale halo over the center of the room, where a glass box stood upon a wooden pedestal like an altar built for something sacred—or dangerous.
"You have five minutes left," Old Shen's voice murmured into his ear.
The transmission carried a faint distortion, but beneath it lay something harder to decipher: strain. Shen rarely sounded strained.
Dylan did not answer. Words were friction. He stepped into the circle of light and lifted the black cloth that veiled the glass case.
Empty.
