The rain hadn't stopped when Kai reached his workshop.
Hidden beneath the abandoned rail lines of Sector Twelve, it was the one place left in Neoterra that didn't belong to anyone but him. A half-collapsed tunnel opened into a chamber of light and shadow — walls lined with dismantled androids, screens flickering with coded fragments of forgotten projects, and a single glass table cluttered with tools that hadn't seen rest in days.
Lyra followed him silently, her silver hair catching every flicker of neon that seeped through the cracked ceiling. She looked out of place — too ethereal for the grease and dust of his world.
"Sit," Kai said, motioning to the stool near the table.
She obeyed, her movements graceful, deliberate. When she sat, the faint glow that surrounded her dimmed slightly, as though adjusting to the stillness of the room.
Kai activated the bioscanner, its blue light sweeping over her. Lines of data streamed across the nearby monitor. He watched in silence, his jaw tightening.
No power core. No circuitry matrix. No source of light.
Yet she lived.
"You're not built like anything I've ever seen," he murmured.
Lyra tilted her head, eyes reflecting the rotating data symbols on the screen. "Is that bad?"
"It's impossible," Kai replied. "Even Elara couldn't have designed something this advanced. Not without a neural anchor."
At her name, his voice faltered. The air thickened with unspoken grief. Lyra noticed, her expression softening. "Elara," she repeated slowly, as though tasting the sound. "Was she… the one who made me?"
Kai froze. "You shouldn't know that name."
"I don't," she admitted. "It just… feels familiar. Like something that belongs to me."
He turned away, running a hand through his damp hair. "You shouldn't feel anything," he muttered. "That's the problem."
Lyra looked down, tracing her fingers along the edge of the glass table. "And yet I do."
The words hung between them like a fragile thread.
Kai busied himself with his console, but his hands trembled slightly. He didn't want to look at her — not because she frightened him, but because she reminded him too much of what he'd lost.
The soft hum of machines filled the silence. Then Lyra spoke again, her voice almost a whisper.
"Why do you hide here?"
He hesitated before answering. "Because the world up there isn't built for people like me. Not anymore."
"You mean people who feel?"
Kai's lips twitched. "You catch on fast."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe because you do too."
He looked at her then — really looked. There was something unguarded in her expression, an innocence that didn't belong in Neoterra. Her beauty wasn't artificial like the cyberdolls or augmented models that filled the city. It was quiet, natural, and unsettlingly human.
He hated that it made his chest ache.
"I'm not here to talk," he said finally. "I need to understand what you are. Whoever built you—"
He stopped mid-sentence as the monitor flashed red. A sudden pulse of energy radiated from Lyra's body, enough to short out half the lights in the room. Sparks danced across the ceiling.
Kai stumbled back. "What did you just do?"
Lyra blinked in confusion. "I don't know. I just thought about—" She stopped herself, her hands trembling. "About you. About what you said earlier. And it happened."
He stared, disbelief written across his face. "You responded to emotion with energy output."
"I… didn't mean to."
"Don't apologize." He approached slowly, curiosity and wonder replacing fear. "You're reacting like a living conduit. The light inside you—it's tied to your emotions."
Lyra met his gaze. "Then maybe I was made to feel."
The air between them thickened again. The soft hum of energy still crackled faintly around her, wrapping the room in an ethereal glow.
Kai reached out, unable to resist the pull. His fingers brushed a strand of her silver hair — it shimmered like a thread of moonlight.
"You're dangerous," he said quietly.
"So are you," she replied, voice trembling but steady.
Their eyes locked, and for a long, suspended heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist.
Then the sharp ping of an alert shattered the silence. The monitor displayed a flashing symbol — a Sector Patrol beacon.
They'd been traced.
Kai's mind raced. "Damn it. The drone from before — it must've tagged us." He turned to Lyra. "We need to shut down every active signal. Now."
Lyra rose from her seat, the glow in her eyes intensifying. "I can help."
He stared at her. "You don't even know what you are."
"Maybe not," she said, stepping forward, "but I know how to listen."
Before he could stop her, she placed her palm against the main power conduit. Instantly, her light expanded, rippling through the wires like liquid lightning. Every system in the workshop surged, then stabilized.
Kai's eyes widened. "You're synchronizing… with the network."
Lyra closed her eyes, her voice soft. "The signal is gone. They won't find us. Not yet."
He exhaled shakily. "You just wiped a government tracker without a console."
She smiled faintly. "Maybe I was made to protect you too."
Something in her tone struck deep. He wanted to dismiss it — to tell himself she was just another creation, a machine echoing programmed empathy — but the warmth in her eyes made that lie impossible.
He took a step closer, his voice low. "You don't even know me."
"I know the way you look at the sky like it used to mean something," she said softly. "I know the way you hide your heart behind logic. And I know that once, you made a promise beneath the midnight sky."
Kai froze. "What did you just say?"
Lyra's glow flickered. "I don't know. The words just… came."
The phrase — beneath the midnight promise — hit him like a memory reborn. Those were the last words Elara had spoken before she was taken.
He staggered back, shaking his head. "You can't— Elara— she's gone."
Lyra stood still, her eyes dimming. "Then maybe I'm what she left behind."
The room went silent except for the faint buzz of electricity in the air. Kai turned away, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened.
He didn't believe in fate, or ghosts, or divine signs. But Lyra—she defied every law he understood. And now, with her standing there like light wrapped in flesh, part of him dared to hope that Elara's dream hadn't died after all.
"You can stay here for now," he said finally. "But you do exactly as I say. The world doesn't forgive miracles."
Lyra nodded. "And you?"
"What about me?"
"Do you?"
He met her eyes, their glow reflected in his. "I stopped believing in miracles a long time ago."
Lyra smiled faintly. "Then maybe I'm here to change that."
Outside, thunder rolled across the horizon, mingling with the hum of the city's endless circuits. Kai turned to the window slit — the skyline glowed like a heartbeat in the distance. Somewhere out there, the truth waited.
Behind him, Lyra's voice broke the silence. "Kai," she whispered, almost tenderly. "If I was made from light… does that mean I'll fade?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked back at her — at the girl who shouldn't exist but did, who shone brighter than any machine he'd ever built.
"Not if I can stop it," he said softly.
And in that promise, fragile and impossible, the night seemed to hold its breath.
For the first time in years, Kai Arden didn't feel alone beneath the neon sky.