Ch.23: Greta's Intel

Greta returns at 02:50.

She looks broken.

Aris didn't fire her. He didn't arrest her. He just moved Leo to a new location. A location he won't tell her.

She is still working because she has no choice. She is a ghost haunting her own life.

She changes the bag. She doesn't dilute it this time. Aris is watching the logs too closely. But she leans in close, her lips brushing my ear.

"I found the schematics," she whispers. Her voice is barely audible over the hum of the air conditioner. "In his office wastebasket. He printed them out for the security upgrade."

She keeps her back to the camera. She pretends to check my pulse.

"The laundry chute," she murmurs. "It connects the master bedroom to the basement utility room. It's the only vertical shaft that isn't monitored by cameras."

I listen. The diamond sits heavy in my stomach, a cold stone of potential.

"But the hallways are wired," she continues. "Motion sensors. Everywhere. Infrared grid. If you cross a beam, the silent alarm trips. He'll be down here with a gun before you take ten steps."

Motion sensors.

My heart sinks. I can crawl. I can fight. But I can't be invisible.

"They're thermal," Greta adds. "High-end military tech. They track heat signatures. Anything above 95 degrees Fahrenheit triggers the lock."

Heat.

I look at the monitor. I look at my own vitals.

**Temperature: 94.2°F.**

I frown. That’s low. Hypothermic.

Greta sees me looking.

"The Rocuronium," she whispers. "It depresses the metabolism. Your body isn't generating heat like a normal person. You're running cold."

She checks the thermometer strip on my forehead.

"94.2," she confirms. "The sensors are calibrated for human intruders. 98.6. Maybe a variance of two degrees."

She looks at me. Her eyes widen.

"You're too cold to see."

A chill that has nothing to do with the temperature runs down my spine.

I am not just a prisoner. I am a reptile.

"If you can lower it more," Greta whispers urgently. "If you can get below 90... you'll be invisible to the thermal grid. You'll be a ghost."

Below 90 is dangerous. Below 90 is severe hypothermia. Arrhythmia. Cardiac arrest.

But it’s a way out.

Greta glances at the door. "I have to go. He's timing me."

She squeezes my hand.

"The laundry chute is behind the panel in the utility room. The code is 1984."

She leaves.

The lock engages.

I am alone with the cold.

I look at the AC vent above my head. The one I hacked into overdrive. It’s still blowing frigid air, though Aris managed to throttle it back to a survivable chill.

I need to get colder.

I kick off the sheet. I lie naked on the concrete floor.

The cold seeps into my skin. It feels like thousands of tiny needles pricking my pores. I start to shiver.

*No. Shivering generates heat.*

I force my muscles to relax. I surrender to the cold. I welcome it.

I visualize my blood slowing down. Thickening. Turning to slush.

I watch the monitor.

**94.0... 93.5... 93.0.**

It’s working. But it’s slow. Too slow. The window of movement at 3:00 AM is approaching. I need to be ready.

I look at the ice bucket on the tray table. Greta brought it earlier for my "fever" – a fever I didn't have, but a convenient excuse to bring ice into the room.

I reach out. My arm is heavy, stiff with cold.

I grab the bucket. I dump it onto my chest.

The shock is immediate. It steals the breath from my lungs. My heart stutters.

*Gasp.*

I grit my teeth. I spread the ice cubes over my torso, tucking them into my armpits, against my neck.

The monitor plummets.

**92.0... 91.0... 90.5.**

My vision starts to tunnel. Grey spots dance at the edges. My thoughts are becoming sluggish, like molasses.

*Stay awake. Stay awake.*

**89.8.**

I am invisible.

The clock flips. **03:00**.

The Rocuronium window opens.

I roll off the bed. I hit the floor. I don't feel the impact. I am numb.

I crawl.

My limbs are heavy blocks of ice. I drag myself through the door, into the dark hallway.

I see the red light of a sensor on the ceiling ahead. It sweeps back and forth, a cyclops eye scanning for warmth.

I hold my breath.

I crawl directly into the beam.

The red light washes over me.

I wait for the alarm. I wait for the sirens.

Nothing.

The light passes over me as if I am part of the floor. As if I am just a cold spot on the concrete.

I keep crawling.

I reach the utility room. I find the panel.

I punch in the code. **1-9-8-4.**

The panel slides open.

Behind it is a dark, metal chute. It smells of detergent and old secrets. It goes straight up.

I look up the shaft. It’s a vertical tunnel to freedom.

I grab the lip of the chute. The metal is freezing, but I don't feel it.

I am a ghost in the machine.