Pressure at the Threshold

Marisol Cruz pressed her palm to the corroded hatch, feeling the vibration through copper beneath slick skin. Water curled in silent eddies around her as she floated at the threshold, eyes fixed on the illuminated grid above. Below her, the city’s heartbeat thudded, hydrostatic pumps and distant festival drums mingling. Above her, a shaft of rationed sunlight flickered through algae-stained glass. She glanced once over her shoulder, catching sight of a pair of Ouroboros enforcers rounding the bend, their shapes distorted by the thick water. The code to the pressure bypass burned in her memory. She dug a slender tool from her belt and slipped it into the hatch’s seam, working quietly. The lock protested with a sharp click. A distorted voice echoed down the corridor, urgent and close. Marisol’s gills fluttered as she pressed herself into the narrow alcove, mind racing. One false move and she’d blow the seal, or her cover.