We exchanged glances. “Rune?” I asked at last.

She slid past me, strangely hesitant, still refusing to meet my eyes. Rune was always slow to act, except where computers were involved. There, she dove in with, if anything, an overabundance of enthusiasm.

Now she paused by the panel, running her fingers over it as if stroking a timid puppy. Cage laid his hand on her shoulder and spoke to her in Mandarin. I felt like I was intruding on their conversation, but I couldn’t help overhearing: “It’s okay, meimei,” he said softly. “Whatever’s back there, we’ll handle it.”

She swallowed hard. “Cage, you don’t think . . . It can’t be them, can it?”

“Of course not,” he said, too quickly. “I’m sure the residents closed the door themselves when the alarms sounded.”

That didn’t seem to comfort her. “Then they may not take too kindly to us barging in.”

It was a good point, and it brought me up short. But Cage continued without missing a beat: “Alexei’s a Danshov. No one’s going to mess with him. We’ll be fine.”

Alexei’s eyes slid in Cage’s direction at the sound of his name, and then toward me, but I only shook my head. I couldn’t begin to imagine how I’d explain the gist of the conversation, and it felt like a betrayal to try.

At last, reluctantly, Rune slid her fingers into the panel, and the door shuddered open.

We stared into a prison larger than any of the ones on Sanctuary. We couldn’t see beyond the corridor’s dim depths, but I guessed where we’d find work spaces, entertainment areas, and the server room. If we got there, Rune might bond with the computer, ascertain what was going on? Cage nodded, my idea mirrored in his eyes. It was worth a shot.

We entered the hall, staying close together, even Mia within a few steps. Rune left the door open behind us. Part of me wanted her to close it, wanted the security of the metal at my back. But if we encountered something in the prison, we might have to make a quick escape.

I peeked into the first cell on our left. Ugly stained cloth draped the bars, providing the illusion of privacy. Some sort of antique hot plate stood in a corner, and a few cushions piled along a wall made a rough bed, complete with a tattered blanket. A few pieces of clothing hung along the walls, some of them a woman’s, some of them a child’s. A dirty teddy bear lay beside the cushions. Immediately, Anya came to mind. Where was she? Somewhere safe and warm on Mars, I hoped, far from the notice or attention of Omnistellar or Mars Mining or whatever horror stalked us next.

I must have stood there staring for a while, because Cage came up behind me and touched my arm. “We should get moving,” he said, barely loud enough for me to hear.