The air inside the control room had gone eerily still, the only sound the faint hum of dying equipment and the sharp breaths of the soldiers. Winter's gaze locked with Harlow's, the sharp blue of his eyes reflecting the same unease that coiled in his gut.
"Tell me you saw that," Harlow muttered, voice just above a whisper.
Winter exhaled slowly. "I saw it."
The figure on the security feed—no, the thing—had moved unnaturally, its presence flickering in and out like a corrupted signal. Too fluid. Too wrong.
One of the techs was already scrambling at the terminal, fingers flying across the keys in an attempt to restore the feed.
"Come on, come on," the tech hissed. "System's locked out."
Harlow leaned over. "By who?"
The tech's face drained of colour. "Unknown source."
Winter's pulse ticked higher. That wasn't just a security breach. That was a deliberate override.
"Pull up the last recorded footage," he ordered.
