Don's words settled over the group like a cold front.
Agent Hathaway didn't respond immediately. He just adjusted his grip on the sidearm, the weapon rising slightly as his other hand flicked on the light attachment.
The beam cut down the tunnel in a sharp cone, catching dust and the occasional glint of red where fluids had congealed on the walls.
Charles didn't bother with a weapon. His stance shifted—alert, focused—but restrained. The tunnel's narrow width meant his wings were out of the question unless he wanted to wedge himself in like a trapped bat.
Still, there wasn't a flicker of unease in his expression. "How far?" he asked, eyes tracking the darkness ahead.
Don didn't look away from the corridor. He lowered his center of gravity slightly, bracing his legs and letting his senses widen. The static sensation of Beastshift coursed through him—muscle fibers taut, bones readjusting with quiet efficiency. Then, with barely a breath, he activated Tactical Advance (Silver).
