Milan frowned. "Or make things worse."
John exhaled. "It's the only lead we have. Where do we start?"
Gilbert tapped the tablet, bringing up a new set of coordinates. "There's one site left intact. The final seal."
Natasha leaned in. "Where?"
Gilbert looked up. "Antarctica."
The cold hit them the moment they stepped out of the aircraft, the wind cutting like a blade even through their specialized gear. The station was abandoned, its walls coated in layers of frost and ice. The last recorded research team had vanished two decades ago, leaving nothing behind but scattered equipment and half-finished reports.
John led the way, his boots crunching against the ice. The entrance to the underground structure was still intact, a massive door carved from a material that wasn't stone, wasn't metal, something in between. Symbols etched into its surface pulsed faintly, as if aware of their presence.
