The pirate ran like his life depended on it.
It probably did.
Boots kicking up dust, he ducked under a collapsed metal beam and slipped through a narrow gap in the wall—one clearly used before. Adam followed without a word, his steps light, quiet, not even echoing. His cloak swayed behind him, catching bits of moonlight through the broken roof.
The place felt ancient.
Dead tech lined the walls—wires, cracked monitors, rusted panels flickering with green static. A hallway stretched out in front of them, lit only by hanging lights swinging lazily, creaking as they moved.
"Down here!" the pirate shouted over his shoulder, out of breath, clearly spooked.
Adam didn't answer. He didn't need to.
The further they went, the worse it got. Sounds in the distance—metal scraping, whispers like static, something thudding in the vents above. But neither of them stopped.
Then, finally, they reached it.
