Eira's breath was shallow, caught somewhere between calm and panic. Her fingers twitched against the cold metal wall, tracing invisible patterns she didn't understand but felt deep in her bones.
Kael's presence beside her was a tether, steadying yet distant. He wasn't asking questions, not yet. Maybe because even he didn't have answers. Or maybe because words felt too heavy for this moment.
She swallowed hard, eyes flickering toward the cracked tile floor.
The city's hum wasn't just noise now. It was a warning. A pulse that echoed inside her head, syncing with her heartbeat. The distant steps hadn't stopped. Somewhere, far beyond their hiding place, something was shifting.
Her thoughts spun. Every fragmented memory, every stolen smile, every forgotten name—was it a glitch, a malfunction, or something more?
Am I a fault in the system? The question felt like an accusation.
Her gaze drifted to Kael's face. His jaw was clenched, eyes shadowed but fierce. She wondered if he felt the same gnawing fear.
She wanted to say it aloud—that terrible truth lurking behind every flicker of light and every whispered secret.
I'm afraid. I don't know if I can keep going.
But silence held her tongue.
Instead, she pressed her palm harder to the wall, letting the cold ground her spiraling thoughts.
Kael finally broke the quiet.
"We've crossed a line," he said softly. "The system knows something's off."
Eira nodded, the weight settling heavier on her chest.
"Does that mean it's already too late?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He looked away, eyes distant.
"Not yet. But soon."
The words settled between them like a storm cloud—thick and inevitable.
Eira closed her eyes and pictured her parents again—their blank expressions, the flicker of something lost in her mother's eyes.
She felt a sharp twist of guilt.
Am I tearing them apart by just existing?
Her breath hitched. The silence around her felt suffocating, but also fragile—like if she moved too quickly, it would shatter entirely.
Yet, beneath the fear, something else was growing.
A quiet defiance.
She wasn't ready to disappear.
Not yet.
The silence stretched, thick and unyielding.
Eira's chest tightened like a vise, each breath harder than the last. Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms until the sharp sting pierced through the fog of fear and doubt.
She wanted to scream.
Wanted to tell someone—anyone—that everything was unraveling inside her, that the weight of pretending was crushing her.
But the walls pressed in, closing tight.
No one would understand.
Her voice had already betrayed her once, caught and flagged by the system. No one would believe her if she tried now.
Her legs trembled beneath her, threatening to give out. She swallowed thickly, fighting the hot rise of tears she wasn't allowed to have.
"I'm scared," she whispered, barely audible.
Kael shifted closer, his hand hovering uncertainly before resting lightly on her shoulder.
"It's okay," he said softly, his voice steady but fragile. "We don't have to be strong all the time."
The simple words cracked something inside her.
Her breath hitched, and suddenly the dam broke.
Tears spilled, quiet and uncontrollable.
She pressed her face into her knees, shaking.
The weight of years—of lies, of silence, of forgetting—crushed down.
Kael's hand didn't leave her shoulder.
"We're here," he said. "You're not alone."
Eira looked up, her eyes swollen and raw.
For the first time, she allowed herself to lean on someone else—to be less than perfect, less than controlled.
And in that broken moment, a flicker of hope sparked.
Maybe the flaw wasn't a weakness.
Maybe it was a beginning.