The city was humming again.
A low, mechanical thrum that pressed against Eira's temples like hands trying to still her thoughts. She stood near the back of the hideaway, fingers laced behind her back—an old instinct from when stillness meant survival.
Kael was by the terminal, muttering to himself as he rerouted data from a salvaged Registry port. His face was tight with focus. Eira usually found comfort in that—but today, her mind kept drifting.
To Ysel.
To how she entered the room five minutes ago and said nothing.
That wasn't new. Ysel had always been quiet.
But something was... different.
Not the silence—but the way she held it.
She stood by the far shelf, reviewing encoded documents. Her eyes didn't scan with the same mechanical rhythm. They hovered. Returned to the same paragraph. Again. And again.
Eira tilted her head slightly, watching.
Ysel must've felt it, because she looked up. Their eyes met.
And for a breath—less than a second—something softened in Ysel's expression. The hard line between her brows loosened. Her posture slackened just slightly. Not enough to seem strange to anyone else.
But Eira noticed.
Because she used to do that too.
Smile in places no one else would catch. Let her edges crack only in reflections.
Ysel looked away quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like nothing had happened.
"Kael," she said. "What's the sync rate on that node?"
"Stabilizing at forty-three percent," he answered. "Not good enough to move anything heavy yet."
Ysel nodded, eyes down again. "We'll need a cleaner signal before we extract the archive cluster."
Kael swore under his breath. "That'll take days."
"Then we don't sleep," Ysel replied, tone returning to its usual blade-thin calm.
But something in it was off.
Not colder—warmer. Like she was trying not to sound distant.
Eira's stomach pulled with quiet unease. Ysel didn't try to sound anything.
Eira took a slow breath. "Are you okay?"
The room went still.
Ysel didn't look up. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Eira hesitated. "I don't know. You just feel... quieter."
That earned a faint smile from Kael without him turning. "Coming from Eira, that's saying something."
Eira ignored him. "Did something happen?"
Ysel looked up. Her gaze was calm. Composed. "No."
But the pause before it?
It was a lie.
Eira felt it. But she didn't push.
Not yet.
Because she recognized that look. She'd worn it every day of her life in Aurelis. The look that said not now, not here, not yet.
So instead, she simply nodded and moved closer to the terminal, letting her shoulder brush Kael's just slightly.
But her eyes never left Ysel.
And in that moment, Eira realized something unsettling.
She wasn't the only one hiding the truth anymore.
The map grid flickered—just once—and Kael noticed it.
He crouched beside the rusted projection base, brushing dust from the wire junction. It wasn't the flicker itself that bothered him. It was that Ysel didn't check it.
She always checked it.
"Signal instability," he muttered, fingers tightening around the small copper lead. "Could be bleed from the memory anchor point..."
He trailed off, glancing toward the hallway where Ysel had disappeared fifteen minutes ago, claiming she needed to recalibrate the uplink feed.
She hadn't come back.
He rose, quietly. Padded toward the auxiliary corridor.
At the end of it, Ysel stood in front of a sealed cabinet.
Not moving.
Just staring.
She didn't turn when he approached, but her voice met him halfway. "It's not working, is it?"
Kael blinked. "The map?"
"The plan."
He frowned. "Since when do you question the plan?"
A beat.
Then Ysel turned to face him.
Her face was still composed. Eyes sharp. But something else was there—not defeat, but distance.
She stepped past him without answering, brushing his shoulder lightly. Too lightly for her usual brusque confidence.
Kael turned, watching her go.
And suddenly, all the things he hadn't said to Eira the night before—about how tension was leaking into every breath, about how they were drifting on threads instead of ropes—rose to the surface.
He moved back toward the map, but paused halfway.
Something was off. Not in the circuitry.
In the people.