The footsteps grew sharper.
Measured.
Unhurried.
As if the person behind them already knew they couldn't escape.
Palo's pulse hammered against his ribs. He could barely see more than a dim stretch of tunnel ahead, lit by flickering amber lamps that swayed in the draft.
"Ash—who is that?" Palo whispered.
Ash didn't answer immediately. His grip on Palo's wrist tightened—not painfully, but with a trembling urgency Palo hadn't felt from him before.
"It's not one of the Observers," Ash murmured. "This one's worse."
That did nothing to steady Palo's breathing.
"What do they want?"
Ash didn't look back. "You."
Palo felt the world tilt.
"Why me?"
Ash started pulling him down the tunnel, faster now, though he tried not to show panic. His steps were silent and precise—trained. Palo struggled to keep up.
"You drew something you shouldn't have," Ash said. "Something connected to the experiments my mother was involved in. Something that shouldn't exist outside their research."
Palo shook his head. "But I didn't know what it meant! I still don't!"
"That doesn't matter now." Ash glanced over his shoulder, jaw clenched. "You were supposed to stay invisible. Unknown. Safe."
The footsteps behind them quickened.
Palo felt ice crawl along his spine. "Ash… I don't think we're outrunning whoever that is."
"I know," Ash said quietly.
They reached a fork in the tunnel—one path sloping downward into deeper darkness, the other climbing sharply toward a sealed service door.
Ash stopped.
Palo nearly bumped into him. "Why are we stopping?!"
Ash didn't answer right away. His eyes darted between the two paths, calculating, thinking faster than Palo could follow.
The footsteps stopped too.
Just out of sight.
The silence grew thick, suffocating. Even the pipes overhead seemed to hold their breath.
"Ash," Palo whispered, "please say something."
Ash inhaled shakily. When he spoke, his voice was low, careful.
"That drawing…" he said, "wasn't just a building."
Palo frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Ash's chest rose and fell too quickly. "It was a map."
"A map to what?"
Ash swallowed hard. "To a facility my mother was trying to expose. A place where the organization hid things—people—they didn't want the world to know about."
Palo felt sick. "You're saying I saw it when I was seven?"
"Yes."
"And your mother… hid the drawing because…?"
Ash met Palo's eyes.
"Because she didn't want them to find you."
Palo stumbled back a step. "Why would they care about some random kid's drawing?"
"You weren't random," Ash whispered. "You were found at the edge of one of their sites. Alone. Confused. And you kept mentioning towers. Cities. That same design."
Palo's throat tightened. His memories of being seven were blurred at best—faces, places, half-dreams that never made sense.
"Ash… I don't remember any of that."
"That's because someone erased it."
Palo's breath shuddered. "You keep saying 'someone.' Who—"
A voice cut through the tunnel.
A low, calm voice.
"I wouldn't go down either path if I were you."
Palo froze.
The footsteps resumed, slow and deliberate, approaching the dim edge of the tunnel's light.
Ash stepped subtly between Palo and the approaching figure, shoulders squared even though Palo could see the tension building in him.
The figure emerged from the darkness.
Dressed in a long grey coat.
Hands in pockets.
Expression unreadable.
His eyes locked onto Palo first.
Not Ash.
Palo.
"I finally found you," the man said softly.
Ash's voice dropped into a rare, unguarded tremor. "You're not supposed to be here."
The man smiled faintly. "Then you shouldn't have brought him underground."
Palo's pulse spiked. "Who are you?"
The man tilted his head. "You don't remember me. That's expected. They scrubbed you clean."
Palo stepped back instinctively.
Ash moved with him, matching his pace protectively.
The man raised a hand—not threateningly, but in a placating gesture.
"Relax," he said. "If I wanted to take you, I wouldn't have introduced myself."
Palo didn't relax.
He couldn't.
Ash's voice was cold now. "Say your name."
The man's eyes glinted.
"You already know it."
Ash didn't blink. "Say it."
A long pause stretched through the tunnel.
Finally, the man spoke.
"My name is Dr. Rhys Calder."
Palo's breath caught.
That name felt familiar.
Uncomfortably familiar.
Dr. Calder studied him with unsettling calm. "You don't remember me, Palo. But you used to."
Ash stiffened beside him.
Palo felt his mouth grow dry. "Why… why were you following us?"
Calder's expression softened—as if he felt pity.
"I wasn't following you," he said. "I was following him."
He pointed at Ash.
Palo's stomach dropped.
Ash didn't move.
He didn't breathe.
He just stared at Dr. Calder with an expression Palo had never seen before:
Devastation.
"Don't listen to him," Ash said quietly, voice tight.
Calder stepped closer, unhurried. "Palo, I've come to warn you."
Ash grabbed Palo's sleeve. "He's lying—"
Calder's eyes sharpened.
"Ash," he said, "your mother didn't die because of what she discovered."
Ash froze.
Calder turned back to Palo.
"She died," he said softly, "because of him."
Palo's world shattered in an instant.
Ash inhaled sharply—pain, shock, something broken hitting his voice.
"That's not true," Ash whispered hoarsely.
Calder didn't look away.
"You can't protect him from this forever," the man said. "You're the reason they erased Palo's memories. And you're the reason they're trying to finish what they started nine years ago."
Palo stumbled back.
"Ash…" His voice was barely audible. "Is he telling the truth?"
Ash shook his head immediately, eyes wide—too wide. "No. No, Palo, I would never—"
Palo's heart pounded painfully.
Dr. Calder's voice sliced through the tension.
"Ask him," Calder said quietly. "Ask Ash what happened the night you were found."
Palo stared at Ash—at the fear and guilt rippling behind his eyes.
"Ash…" Palo whispered, voice trembling. "What happened that night?"
Ash closed his eyes.
The footsteps behind them were gone.
The tunnel was silent.
Then Ash whispered, barely audible:
"I tried to save you."
---