The darkness did not end. It shattered.
CLACK.
The heavy pneumatic seals of the vault door released with a pressurized hiss. The industrial LED banks overhead ignited in a cascading, violent sequence of blinding white light.
Yanna screamed, squeezing her eyes shut, tossing her head weakly from side to side on the freezing epoxy floor.
"Silence the alarm."
The voice was cool, smooth, and absolute.
Yanna's vocal cords paralyzed instantly. The scream died in her throat, morphing into a ragged, pathetic wheeze. She lay pinned to the floor, her legs held rigidly apart by the heavy steel spreader bar, her muscles locked in a ninety-six-hour state of agonizing atrophy.
Footsteps approached. The sharp, authoritative click of expensive heels on glass.
"Report status," Camille commanded.
