Chapter 16 - The Race Against the ClockTime became an abstract, torturous concept beneath the flickering red lights of the archive room.
Ten minutes had passed. The air in the enclosed underground space was already noticeably heavier, carrying a slight chill that made our breath mist slightly in the air.
Adrian was frantically examining the digital keypad beside the sealed steel door, using a pocket multitool to pry open the maintenance hatch. Wires of blue, red, and copper spilled out in a tangled mess.
“Are you getting anywhere?” I asked, kneeling beside him, trying to keep my breathing steady to conserve oxygen.
“The wiring is encrypted with a rolling frequency modulator,” Adrian muttered, sweat beading on his forehead as he carefully touched two live wires together, sending a shower of bright white sparks flying across the floor. “If I cut the wrong wire, the system will trigger a chemical fire suppressant that will fill this room in five seconds.”
Marcus sat cross-legged against the metal shelf across from us, watching our desperate struggle with an amused, detached smirk. “Save your energy, children. No one even knows you came down here. By the time anyone realizes you’re missing, we’ll all be history.”
My mind raced. I couldn't die here. Not after finally finding the truth about my mother. Not while Lucia was waiting upstairs in the penthouse, drawing pictures on her new tablet, believing her mother would be right back for dinner.
Lucia.
The thought of my daughter instantly triggered a memory.
When Lucia was learning to count and solve puzzles, my mother had taught her a game—a sequence of numbers and spatial movements based on the exact steps of the Falling Star dance.
One step forward. Two turns left. The rhythm of the melody translated into numerical coordinates.
My eyes darted toward the vintage golden key that Marcus had dropped—the one I was still clutching tightly in my fist. I looked closer at the handle of the key. It wasn't just a key; it was a mechanical combination dial, stamped with tiny musical notes instead of numbers.
“Adrian,” I said, my voice urgent.
He didn't look up from the wires. “Elena, I’m right in the middle of bypassing the motherboard—focus on staying calm.”
“Look at the key,” I insisted, holding it up directly in front of his face. “It’s not a digital override. It’s a physical lock-and-tumbler sequence. And the combination isn't a random string of numbers. It’s the melody.”
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Adrian blinked, his eyes shifting from the sparking wires to the musical notes engraved on the key handle. “The melody your mother taught you?”
“Yes,” I said, my heart pounding against my ribs. “The Falling Star sequence. Every step corresponds to a note on the dial.”
