the smuggler’s bible


One of Magdalena’s teachers said once that the journey is the destination. Yeah, sure, it kind of tracks with some fortune cookie logic, but it is, Magdalena thinks, a life perspective anchored in a position of incredible privilege. There are places to get to. Important ones! There are people waiting and keycards in certain pockets and—JESUS CHRIST, WE GET IT—like thirty alarms blaring at once.

She takes the stairs at a sprint and caroms off a water fountain.

“Two square kilometers of secret base and a four minute countdown,” she huffs. “Sure hope nobody hacks the fucking reactor.”