"Level B-4," the automated voice of the elevator chimed. "Secure Storage."
The steel doors hissed open. The air that rushed into the cabin was frigid, heavily filtered, and smelled of ozone and cold metal.
Camille did not move. She stood perfectly still in her pristine white tuxedo, her hands clasped behind her back. She looked at Yanna.
"Where are we, Pet?"
"We are in the depository, Sovereign," Yanna answered, her voice a hollow, flat echo in the small space.
"And what is the purpose of a depository?"
"To hold items of value. To protect them from the elements. To prevent depreciation."
"Step out."
Yanna stepped forward. Her clear plastic heels clicked sharply against the glass-and-chrome floor of the subterranean corridor. The heavy white silk of her wedding dress whispered against her bruised legs. Inside her, the massive silicone plug shifted, a dull, throbbing anchor pressing against her prostate and tugging at the steel T-bar piercing.
