The heavy iron door of the western research wing collapsed inward under Bukata's shield charge, slamming into the tiled floor with a hollow, echoing ring.
A blast of stale, frigid air rushed out of the corridor ahead, thick with the sharp stench of formaldehyde, bitter botanical venoms, and burnt copper.
Kiuga stepped through the breach first, his twin short-swords raised in a low guard as his sharp eyes scanned the flickering fluorescent tubes overhead.
"Watch the ventilation grates and high piping," Kiuga whispered, reading the tactical layout of the hallway. "They have chemical purge nozzles built directly into the ceiling."
Behind him walked Lira, her emerald healing robes brushing the frosted floor as her breath hitched in her throat.
Every stone, every iron pipe, and every chemical scent in this corridor was burned into the darkest corners of her memory.
