The red digits on Garek’s monitor burned down past nine minutes, thirty-two seconds. Corvan’s voice still echoed off the acoustic paneling, and sweat beaded along Garek’s collar. His mind raced, calculating, seeking any flaw in Corvan’s threat, any countermeasure. There was none. The Aegis system was designed to be impenetrable from the outside, but utterly vulnerable to an internal breach—especially one as meticulously planned as this. He pictured Zova, agile and quick, but ultimately human, against Corvan’s heavily armed crew. “Garek,” Zova’s voice, strained but steady, cut through his growing panic. She was still in the ventilation shaft, the metallic tang of dust and recycled air clinging to her words. “What exactly does he want?” “The biometric bypass key,” Garek relayed, his voice tight. “The one only you can carry. He wants you in the central atrium, alone, before the clock runs out.” He omitted the part about the neuro-toxin, the part about his own personalized, agonizing death. No need to add to her burden. Below them, in the cramped, grimy duct, Velia whimpered. “You can’t go, Zova! He’ll kill you! He’s a monster!” Her voice cracked with genuine terror, a raw sound Zova hadn’t heard from the socialite before. Zova pressed her palm against the cool metal of the duct, the rough edge of the ventilation grate biting into her skin. Her mind, usually a cheerful jumble of domestic chores and Kyran Institute dates, was now a cold, efficient machine. The memory of Corvan’s voice, calling her ‘Wraith,’ the terrifying flashes of a needle-strewn lab, the visceral knowledge of violence coiled in her muscles—it all coalesced into a single, undeniable truth. The mundane life, the quiet scholarship, the peaceful existence she craved, was a fiction. It was a flimsy veil over a terrifying reality, and that reality was now threatening the man who, despite his grumbling and trauma, had offered her a home. *No*, she thought, a quiet, fierce resolve solidifying within her. *Not again. Not to him.* The fear of her own past, her own lethal capabilities, was still there, a dull thrum beneath her resolve. But it was no longer paralyzing. It was a tool. She wouldn’t hide behind reckless humor or a fabricated dream anymore. She would become the predator. “Marnix,” Velia choked out, her voice barely a whisper, as if the name itself was forbidden. “I heard Marnix talking to someone. Before… before all this. He said… he said Corvan needs Garek. For his neural enzymes. To cure his daughter. She’s dying, he said. That’s why he kidnapped Garek, all those years ago. It wasn’t just money.” Zova froze. The information clicked into place, a grim piece of a puzzle she hadn’t even known existed. Not just vengeance, but a desperate, terrifying objective. Garek wasn’t just a target; he was a resource. And that meant Corvan would stop at nothing. “He won’t get him,” Zova said, her voice flat, devoid of its usual cheeky lilt. “Not if I can help it.” She pulled herself up, peering through the grate. “Garek, where’s the nearest maintenance access to a custodial locker? I need bleach, copper wire, and lithium batteries. Fast.” “A utility room?” Garek’s voice was incredulous. “Zova, what are you planning?” “Midterm exams,” she replied, a faint, humorless smile touching her lips. “And Corvan Daelus is about to fail.” Six minutes and fifty-one ticks remained on the feed. Garek, seeing the cold, unshakeable determination in her eyes via a surveillance camera she passed, didn’t argue. He rattled off coordinates, his voice betraying a hint of unease. “Level Four, Sector Gamma. Three corridors down from your current position. It’s behind a concealed panel, access code 7-8-3-2-9.” Zova moved with a speed that belied her petite frame, pulling Velia along. The socialite, surprisingly, didn’t complain, her previous self-pity replaced by a wide-eyed terror that made her compliant. Zova located the panel, her fingers flying over the keypad, the mechanical whir of the lock a faint sound in the echoing ducts. Inside, the storage bay held rows of dry mops, nylon brushes, and jugs of industrial detergent. But to Zova, it was an arsenal. She grabbed two large bottles of concentrated industrial bleach, their labels warning of corrosive properties. Next, she ripped open a defunct automaton vacuum, carefully extracting a coil of thin copper wire from its motor. Her eyes scanned the shelves, landing on a forgotten box of emergency lights. *Perfect.* She pried open a dozen of them, extracting the small, powerful lithium-ion cells within. “What are you doing?” Velia whispered, watching Zova work with morbid fascination. Zova’s hands moved with practiced precision, twisting wires, stripping insulation with her teeth, her brow furrowed in concentration. She emptied the contents of a mop bucket onto the floor, then lined the inside with the copper wire, creating a rudimentary coil. She stacked the lithium batteries within the coil, then carefully poured the bleach over them, watching as a faint, acrid smoke began to rise. “Creating a… distraction,” Zova murmured, stepping back. The chemical reaction was intensifying, the air growing thick with a metallic tang. “A very big, very loud distraction.” “Zova, what have you done?” Garek’s voice, sharp with alarm, came over the intercom. He’d seen the energy spike on his internal sensors, the sudden, localized power surge. “Stand back,” Zova warned, her eyes fixed on the concoction. Velia instinctively recoiled, stumbling backwards into the corner of the closet. The mixture began to hum, a low, rising thrum that vibrated through the floor. A faint blue arc sparked between two exposed copper tips. Then, with a deafening *CRACK* that shook the floor plates, the makeshift EMP detonated. A pulse of concentrated electromagnetic discharge tore through Aegis Manor. Lights flickered, sputtered, and died. The hum of the smart-estate’s automated systems went silent. On Garek’s screen, Corvan’s timer vanished, replaced by a black void. The security feeds, moments before displaying terrified mercenaries whose advanced weaponry had just ceased to function, went blank. Garek slammed his fist against the console in the sudden, oppressive darkness. “Zova! What happened? Are you alright?!” Zova, ears ringing, pushed herself up from where the blast had thrown her. The storage alcove was a charred wreck, smelling of ozone and melted plastic. Velia was a heap in the corner, whimpering. “I’m fine,” Zova coughed, her throat raw. “Just a… power outage.” She blinked, trying to see in the absolute blackness. Her plan had worked. The mercenaries’ tech was fried. Corvan’s control over the manor’s systems was severed. “A power outage isn’t all that’s happened, Zova!” Garek’s voice was tight with renewed urgency, the sounds of his lab-grade air filtration system now absent. “The EMP knocked out the main grid! My panic room’s life support is offline! Oxygen levels are dropping fast! You have three hundred seconds, Zova, before the room runs out of air. Get to the basement core. Restore power!”

Midterm Exams