Cierra looked at the drive, then at her partner. The analytical strategist and the crimson storm. Separately, they were formidable. Together, they were an inevitability.

"Where's the fun in silence?" Angeline grinned, stepping off the ledge.

"Three minutes," Cierra said, her brow furrowed. "I need three minutes."

Inside, the air was cold and smelled of ozone. They moved through the shadows like twin ghosts. When a patrol of three droids rounded the corner, Angeline didn't wait for a plan. She became a blur of red light. Three strikes, three silent shutdowns. Before the droids could hit the floor, Cierra was there, catching the lead unit to prevent the clang of metal on tile.

Cierra didn't look up from her wrist-mounted terminal. Her fingers moved in a blur, bypassing the first layer of the spire's thermal shielding. "Silence is what gets us home, Red. Try to remember that."

They reached the vault door. It was a masterpiece of security—a twelve-stage cryptographic lock paired with a DNA sequencer. Cierra stepped forward, her terminal humming as it began a brute-force injection of ghost-code.

"Bell!" Angeline shouted as a thermal detonator rolled toward her. "Done!" Cierra yelled back.