The silence broke first. A wet hiss, followed by the groan of metal straining against itself.
One of the pods split open.
Steam flooded the chamber, spilling over the mirrored floor in pale coils. A figure dragged itself upright inside the glass coffin—its limbs too long, its head tilted wrong, eyes glowing faint blue. The rune-etched restraints sparked uselessly as it pressed a clawed hand against the barrier. The glass trembled, then cracked.
"Damn it," Hale muttered, voice tight. He didn't lower his pistol. "They're waking."
Seris's hand stayed outstretched toward Theron, refusing to flinch even as the mist thickened. He stood between her and the pods, shoulders rising and falling with jagged breaths. His blade twitched in his grip, the static pulsing down his arms like veins of lightning.
"Theron." She tried again, her voice sharp this time, not pleading. "I know you're in there. You hear me."
His head jerked toward her—too fast, like a puppet's string had been yanked. For a heartbeat she saw his face: sweat-streaked, eyes fighting through the static, jaw clenched in defiance. Then Nine's voice crawled out of his mouth, layered and distorted:
We are awake. We are owed.
The pod behind him shattered.
Glass rained across the floor as a creature half-crawled, half-fell from its confinement. Its skin looked stretched, runes burned into its flesh like brands. Its mouth opened on a scream that carried no sound—only a vibration that rattled bone and made Seris's teeth ache.
Another pod hissed. Then another.
Sector Zero was waking.
Hale moved first. He fired three clean shots into the creature dragging itself free. The rounds struck its head and chest, snapping it backward in a spray of pale blood—but instead of collapsing, it clawed to its feet, jerking like a marionette on broken strings.
"Move!" Hale barked, already shifting toward the blast doors. "We're not equipped for a containment breach."
But Seris didn't move. Her eyes locked on Theron. He hadn't attacked them yet, hadn't moved at all since the Brother fell. He stood at the center of it, caught between two tides—hers and Nine's.
"Theron," she said, louder now, her voice cutting over the alarms sputtering back to life. "If you let him take you, you'll be nothing. Just a weapon. Is that what you want?"
His shoulders shook. His lips parted.
And Nine laughed.
Weapons rule the weak. You should know, healer. You keep them alive so they can die later. I keep them alive forever.
The mist surged, pressing against the walls as if the entire sector were breathing in time with Nine's words. More pods cracked, fissures spiderwebbing across reinforced glass. Seris's pulse hammered in her throat. If they all broke at once, Division Grey would drown in monsters before the Guild ever noticed.
The creature Hale had shot shrieked and lunged. Seris flinched—then blinked in shock as a blur of steel carved it down mid-stride.
Theron.
For a flicker of a moment, his eyes were his again, bloodshot and furious. "I'm not your puppet," he hissed. His blade tore the thing's body in half, static sparking where the steel met flesh.
Nine's voice bled through him instantly, colder than ice:
Not yet.
The lights overhead blew out. The alarms cut. Only the sound of glass cracking remained, echoing endlessly in the dark.
Hale's hand pressed against his earpiece, muttering curses under his breath. "Comms are fried. Facility net's offline." His tone sharpened, almost a growl. "This sector's gone. We cut our losses, or we all die here."
Seris rounded on him. "And leave him?"
"He's not him anymore," Hale snapped.
Theron staggered. His sword dragged against the mirrored floor, leaving a streak of static light in its wake. His body convulsed as though two forces were tearing him in opposite directions. His gaze flickered between them—Seris, Hale, the pods splitting one after another.
For the first time, his voice and Nine's overlapped in perfect unison:
Run. Or burn with me.
The largest pod at the far end of the chamber groaned. Steel warped. Glass bulged. Something massive shifted inside, its silhouette blotting out the dim light.
The shatterpoint had come.