And the magnetic lock on the steel door disengaged with a loud clunk, defaulting to open in a catastrophic power failure.

I didn’t look back at Jonas, trapped in the dark of his own booth. I kicked the door open and stumbled out into the cool, rain-soaked night, gasping.

I’d lost twenty minutes. It was 10:45 p.m.

I drove like a demon, trading stealth for speed. I breached the perimeter of Fort Severn just after 11:15, ditched the car near the academy walls, and moved on foot through the shadows of the docks.

The USS Leviathan sat in the water like a monstrous black tube of steel, over three hundred feet of it, rain pounding the hull. Armed guards patrolled the gangway, checking IDs.

I couldn’t use the forged catering badge — Jonas had likely burned that alias.