Page 59 of Rescuing Sophia

“Sorry, forgot something.” I back away. Their puzzled looks follow me as the doors close.

Panic rising, I scan the hallway. There—a stairwell. I push through the heavy door, grateful for the sudden silence. The stairs wind downward, my footsteps echoing in the empty stairwell. With each floor I descend, the weight in my chest grows heavier.

At the bottom, I pause, ear pressed to the door. Silence. Slowly, I ease it open, slipping out into a dimly lit corridor. Empty, thank God. I creep forward, trying to remember Mitzy’s tour route.

A heavy door looms ahead, “Server Room” stenciled in stark white letters. This is it. I tuck my own badge under my shirt, fingers trembling as I pull out Blake’s. The stolen badge feels hot in my hand, a burning reminder of my betrayal.

I swipe it, holding my breath.

A soft beep.

A green light.

The lock disengages with a click.

Breath quickening, I slip inside, closing the door behind me. The room envelops me in a world of technology. Rows of black cabinets stretch into the distance, a digital forest of massive computing power. The air is cool, almost frigid, yet sweat still beads on my forehead.

Pulling out the phone again, I whisper, “I’m in. What now?”

“Look for a terminal,”Malfor snaps through the phone. “It’ll have a monitor, keyboard, and probably some USB ports. Should stand out from the servers.”

My heart sinks. “There are just—servers everywhere. Row after row.”

“Then look harder,”he growls.“It has to be there somewhere. Find it.”

I swallow hard, terror clawing at my throat. Disappointing Malfor isn’t an option. Not with what’s at stake.

I weave through the maze of humming machines, each aisle looking identical to the last. Blinking lights and whirring fans surround me, a digital jungle that seems to close in with every step. Sweat trickles down my back despite the chill.

One aisle. Two. Three. Nothing but towers of sleek black metal.

Panic rises. What if I can’t find it? What will Malfor do?

Then, at the end of the fourth aisle, I spot it. A soft glow catches my eye.

There, nestled between two server banks, stands a small workstation. A monitor hums quietly, its screen visible in the dim light. A keyboard waits below, a scatter of USB ports visible.

Relief floods through me, so intense my knees nearly buckle.

“I found it,” I breathe into the phone, my voice shaky.

“About time. Now, insert the drive.”

My hands shake as I plug it in. The screen flickers to life.

“Input exactly what I tell you.”

Malfor begins dictating a string of commands. My fingers tremble over the keys, fear making each stroke uncertain.

“Colon, backslash, backslash...”His voice crackles through the phone.

“Wait,” I stammer, “is that two colons or one colon and two backslashes?”

“One colon, two backslashes,”Malfor snaps.“Pay attention.”

Sweat beads on my forehead despite the chill. I type carefully, then read it back.

“Wrong,”he snarls.“It’s a forward slash, not a backslash. Start over.”

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