The door swung open again. Brad Bellick shuffled in, carrying a tray of cheap coffee. His uniform was gone, replaced by a stained polo shirt. He looked defeated, soft around the edges.

Lincoln stood up, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s move. Before we all grow old in this rat hole.”

“You okay?” she asked, touching his hand.

Before Lincoln could retort, the door creaked open. Alexander Mahone entered, his eyes hollowed by exhaustion and the relentless ghost of the man he used to be. He tossed a encrypted hard drive onto the table.

He looked at the blueprints. At the maze of corridors and dead ends. At the one-way door labeled EXIT that led straight into enemy fire.

Mahone’s jaw tightened. “Wyatt’s handler. A ghost named Krantz. He holds the final decryption key for Scylla.”

“That was your fault for stepping on the glass,” Michael replied, a ghost of a smile flickering across his pale face.