19. A One-Second Infiltration

Carl's infiltration skills were not particularly outstanding—but whether something was "outstanding" depended on who she was compared to.

Compared to an Intelligence Bureau ace agent like Reid, Carl's skills were indeed nothing worth mentioning.

On a top-secret mission where life and death hung in the balance, her slightly unpracticed habit of muffling her footsteps and her occasional hesitant pauses would have been fatal flaws. Back in Dogtown, it had been Carl's actions that led to their exposure alongside Reid.

But this was only a half-abandoned warehouse, patrolled by nothing more than routine drones and infrared sensors. Against those, Carl's skills were more than enough.

She hunched over as she slipped through the A Sector shelves piled high with parts, like an elusive shadow.

Information she had extracted from the warehouse employees flashed through her mind. Patrols in B Sector had recently been reinforced. The thought hooked her attention, and as she dodged the rotating surveillance cameras, she did not even care when her knee pressed against a leaking hydraulic pipe and got oil on her clothes.

After carefully making sure the oil stains on her clothing would neither drip nor leave any traces, Carl continued forward with steady, swift steps.

She licked her lips and kept her breathing quieter than the dust brushing beneath her feet. The iron door to B Sector stood fifteen meters away, a sliver of cold light seeping through its crack. Evidently, the other side still had its lights running around the clock.

Just as Carl was about to cross those fifteen meters, she suddenly sensed that something was wrong.

Her steps came to an abrupt halt just outside the fifteen-meter line.

Her sole was less than half an inch from the first pressure plate. The foot hovering in midair could feel a faint electric tremor