The hallways of HeroCorp HQ didn't echo.
Too much money had been spent on hush-padding, pressure sealants, privacy-grade walling. Sound died quietly here — swallowed like secrets.
Hernan walked with his hands at his sides, boots clean, uniform pressed, the singe marks from District 4 buffed out. He didn't recognize the hallway they'd escorted him to. That was deliberate. No nameplates. No windows. Just a corridor designed to erase footsteps.
Two guards opened the final door without a word.
He stepped inside.
The room was long, narrow, and freezing — more like a corporate war room than a hero operations center. White lights. Silver trim. One rectangular black table stretching too far, like it had grown until it swallowed the space.
At the far end sat Director Krane.
White suit. Sharp wireframe glasses. Thin hands folded in front of a datapad. His skin was so pale it looked powdered, like someone had removed the blood to save on warmth.
