Her awareness brushed the system and data bloomed at the edge of her vision.
A translucent overlay slid into place, clean and precise, markers populating in soft pulses. Human signatures resolved first, clustered elsewhere in the fortress, moving in predictable loops. She narrowed the scope, filtering until only the kitchen wing and its adjacent storage remained.
Empty.
The confirmation came without ceremony, just a subtle shift in the display, a field cleared of noise. She let the overlay fade as they reached the door.
A placard hung slightly crooked at eye level, white plastic scuffed from years of use.
Kitchen staff on break.
Returning at 17:00.
She glanced at it once, then away. Schedules were habits, and habits were vulnerabilities.
Jin crouched without being prompted, tools already in hand. The access panel resisted for half a second, then yielded, circuitry exposed like something caught mid-breath. No alarms stirred. No silent alerts slipped loose into the system's wider web. The lock disengaged with a soft internal click, more felt than heard.
They slipped inside and closed the door behind them.
The space opened wide.
Not a kitchen, not really. A production floor disguised as one.
Steel counters stretched in orderly rows, surfaces polished to a dull gleam. Industrial stoves lined one wall, burners large enough to cradle cauldrons rather than pans. Racks of hanging cookware stood ready, each piece immaculate, cleaned and rehung with care that spoke of routine, not display.
This was a place designed to work, to feed volume without sacrificing quality.
She moved first, pace unhurried. As she passed, whole sections vanished, counters clearing without sound, equipment slipping into her space as easily as breath leaving lungs. Knives, pans, mixers, slicers, sealed containers stacked with spices still fragrant enough to cling to the air.
Nothing was spared. Nothing was evaluated for worth beyond availability.
Jin followed, methodical, checking corners, sightlines, secondary exits. They didn't speak. They didn't need to.
Past the main floor, a second door waited. Red lettering this time, stark against metal.
AUTHORIZED STAFF ONLY.
RESTRICTED ACCESS.
Jin took it apart with the same quiet patience he brought to everything else. The reader blinked once, confused, then accepted the lie it was given. The lock disengaged.
Beyond it lay storage, and beyond storage, excess.
Shelving rose floor to ceiling, packed tight. Crates stamped with foreign markings. Vacuum-sealed cuts of meat arranged by grade and origin. Dry goods stored in climate-controlled precision, rice polished to a pearlescent sheen, grains sorted, legumes sealed against time.
She walked the aisles slowly, and the shelves emptied just as slowly behind her.
Freezers came next.
The cold hit first, a dry, biting chill meant to preserve perfection. She stepped inside and felt it only distantly, attention already cataloguing what waited there. Wagyu, marbled so finely it looked unreal, each cut labeled with provenance and date. Whole sides hung carefully spaced, monitored, cherished.
They vanished.
Another freezer, deeper, colder. Desserts, indulgent and absurd in their variety. Ice creams crafted in small batches, flavors layered and named like art pieces. Caviar packed in matte black tins. Cheeses aged to exactness, wrapped, logged, tracked.
Gone.
She didn't smile. She didn't slow.
Past cold storage, the space opened again, glass walls revealing an enclosed garden bathed in artificial daylight. Rows of vegetables thrived in controlled soil, leaves glossy, roots fed by nutrient lines humming softly beneath the floor. Freshness engineered, growth scheduled.
She stripped it bare.
Even the fixtures went, grow lights dissolving into her space, irrigation systems following. The garden emptied until only the hum remained, echoing faintly in the sudden hollowness.
By the time they finished, the kitchen was a shell.
No plates. No forks. No utensils tucked away for later use. Even the dispensers were gone, stainless steel brackets left naked against the walls. It looked abandoned not from neglect, but from intent.
As they exited, the placard still hung on the door.
Returning at 17:00.
There would be nothing to return to.
They moved back into the corridor, footsteps measured, senses tuned outward again. The fortress felt different here. Denser. The acoustics shifted, sound traveling farther, overlapping instead of fading cleanly.
She noticed it immediately.
Footsteps, layered. Not the lazy rhythm they'd passed through before. No gaps. No comfortable spacing. Patrols overlapped, one set of boots following another so closely the sound braided together.
Jin glanced at her. She didn't look back.
Ahead, the corridor narrowed, reinforced plating creeping in along the walls. The air carried a faint tang of oil and metal, sharper than before. Functional. Purpose-built.
The fortress wasn't relaxed here.
She let her awareness brush the system again, not for confirmation, but for context. The map responded, denser with movement ahead, patterns tight, disciplined.
Armed men guarding arms.
They stopped just short of the junction where the sound thickened, where every step forward would carry weight.
The kitchen was gone behind them. Stripped clean. Silent.
Ahead waited something else entirely.