Page 23 of The Hyena’s Guardian

At least, Matt assumed it had been a chapel at some point. Time and collapse had erased most of the original structure centuries ago, leaving behind broken stone walls reinforced with temporary steel supports and heavy waterproof tarps stretched across the exposed ceiling. Portable generators hummed from one corner while floodlights cast hard white illumination across folding tables crowded with excavation maps, sensor equipment, weapons cases, and half-drained coffee cups.

Nobody inside the command post looked rested.

Matt stepped through the entrance behind Baptiste while rain hammered steadily against the tarp overhead. The sudden warmth inside seemed strange after the freezing storm outside, carrying the smell of damp clothing, old stone, overheated electronics, and exhaustion.

Several operatives glanced up as they entered before returning their attention to the monitors spread across the central tables. Matt noticed the same thing he had outside: everyone avoided looking toward the excavation entrance for too long.

Like eye contact with the mountain itself had become uncomfortable.

Commander Vale crossed toward the largest display screen near the center of the room while Keene set the sealed case onto one of the nearby tables. A woman in tactical gear stood waiting beside the equipment monitors with a tablet tucked beneath one arm and enough visible exhaustion beneath her eyes to suggest she had not slept in at least a day.

“Mr. Reynolds,” Vale said, “this is Dr. Elara Petrescu, lead archaeological consultant for the excavation.”

The woman looked up. Sharp gray eyes studied Matt with quick clinical focus before flicking briefly toward Baptiste and Keene beside him. “You’re the new operative,” she said.

Matt looked back at her. “That kinda sounds temporary.”

“It probably is,” Baptiste replied.

Matt glanced sideways. “You continue being spectacularly bad at encouragement.”

“I believe in consistency.”

To Matt’s surprise, the archaeologist smiled faintly before she looked back toward the excavation maps spread across the table.

“You arrived at an unfortunate time,” she said.

“That sentence has literally never led anywhere good.”

“No,” Keene agreed. “It has not.”

Dr. Petrescu activated one of the nearby displays, and a three-dimensional rendering of the underground excavation rotated above the table in pale blue light.

Even after seeing the scans outside, the full image unsettled Matt instantly.

The monastery itself occupied only the uppermost layer of the structure.

Beneath it, the mountain opened downward into something enormous.

Ancient corridors spiraled through the earth in overlapping geometric patterns that looked far too deliberate to be natural cave formations. Massive chambers branched outward beneath the excavation site at irregular depths while entire sections of the lower structure remained obscured behind distorted scan interference.

Matt stared at the projection for several seconds. “How deep does this go?”

“We don’t know,” Dr. Petrescu admitted.

The answer landed heavily in the silence around the table.

“We lost accurate mapping below level six approximately four days ago,” she continued. “The lower structure does not remain spatially consistent for extended periods of time.”

Matt blinked once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The corridors change.”

“That feels like something architecture should not do.”

“It isn’t architecture,” she replied.

The room seemed to grow quieter after that sentence.