Dani sat slumped against the grimy brick wall of the alley behind the drugstore, the night pressing in around her like a silent jury. The city's hum was distant here, warped by shadows that seemed to pulse and breathe with a life of their own. Her fingers trembled as she raised a cigarette, only to pause and stare at it in the pale glow of a flickering streetlight. She hadn't felt the urge to smoke in weeks, but tonight the craving twisted in her gut like a knot she couldn't undo.
Before she could light it, a soft voice startled her.
"No."
Dani looked up to see Myra standing there, a coat too thin for the cold, hands tucked into the pockets like she was guarding something fragile. The edges of her face were sharp but calm, a stark contrast to the wrecked woman Dani was. She reached out and took the cigarette gently, flicking it into the dark.
"You think that's going to help?" Myra said quietly. "It won't. It never does."
Dani let out a shaky breath, the smoke already ghosted away without ever being lit. "Maybe I just want to forget for a second," she muttered.
Myra crouched beside her, eyes softening. "I get it. But the last thing you need is to numb out now. The world's not slowing down for us."
Dani's mind drifted. The weight of what she'd seen in the Archive Below clawed at her—Iteration 2b, the fractured shards of memory, and the growing certainty that she was something other than human. That this whole fractured reality was bleeding into her, twisting her from the inside out.
Her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "I keep thinking about Lance. About... Rico."
Myra nodded, but her eyes stayed sharp, cautious. "I don't know Lance."
"No, you don't," Dani said, voice brittle. "But if I'm honest... maybe I'm holding on to Lance because of who Rico was. Because in him, there was... something I knew. Something human."
The alley seemed to close in tighter.
"Why does he want me to care so much?" Dani asked herself, her voice trailing off. "Why does he keep pulling at me like that?"
Myra placed a steady hand on Dani's shoulder. "Because he is human too..probably. You don't owe him anything more than what you owe yourself. But maybe, just maybe... you need to decide what you want."
Dani closed her eyes, the tension breaking for a moment.
"We're going to find them," Myra said softly. "Kenton and you, and... Lance."
A silence stretched between them, filled with ghosts only Dani could see.
Far away, in a dimly lit loft overlooking the city's fractured skyline, Kenton was hunched over an unstable crystalline construct. His hands trembled as he focused on the shimmering facets, twisting them this way and that, trying to hold the impossible shape steady. The raw potential of his powers pulsed beneath his skin like a second heartbeat—thrilling and terrifying.
He felt it again, that intoxicating surge of control, the promise that maybe, just maybe, he could shape more than just crystal. That he could bend perception itself, twist the very fabric of what others saw and felt.
But every time he pushed, a ripple of instability followed—a fracture in the construct, a distortion in his own vision, and a growing whisper of doubt. The powers were beautiful and broken, gifts and curses tangled beyond repair.
A sudden buzz from his pocket pulled him out of his thoughts. The screen lit up: a message from Harrow.
"We need to meet. Now. It's moved."
Kenton's breath caught. Without hesitation, he texted back.
"Where?"
"Sector Delta. But not the same one you remember."
Dani and Myra made their way carefully through the fractured streets toward Sector Delta, the city's skeleton rising like a ghost from the dark. Dani's mind was a storm of conflicting thoughts. Bringing Lance along for Rico's sake had been an idea she rejected as soon as it surfaced, but it lingered—a nagging thread she couldn't untangle.
Why does he want me to care so much? The question circled in her mind, gnawing at her resolve.
Lance was broken—physically, mentally—and she wasn't sure which version of him she was supposed to hold on to anymore. Was she trying to save him? Or was it something else? Something linked to the memory of a man who never should have been replaced.
She glanced at Myra walking beside her, the quiet strength in the woman's gait, the way she held her head as if shielding herself from a world that refused to be kind. Myra didn't know Lance, didn't carry the burden Dani did—but maybe that made her perspective all the more valuable.
"You're not going to turn away," Myra said suddenly, reading Dani's silence.
"I don't think I can," Dani admitted.
The air felt thick as they neared the meeting point. Dani's eyes flicked to the cigarette in her hand, the lingering urge now a dull ache instead of a sharp craving. She stuffed it back into her pocket, feeling Myra's steady presence as an anchor.
At the shadowed entrance of Sector Delta, Harrow waited, his silhouette imposing against the fractured light. His eyes flicked over Dani and Myra as they approached, sharp and unreadable. When Kenton arrived moments later, the four stood in tense silence.
Harrow's voice cut through like ice. "The sphere... it's not where it should be."
Dani's heart skipped. The milk sweat. The anomaly. The breach.
Harrow looked at Kenton. "Neither of you knows how it was taken."
Kenton shook his head slowly. "No. But if it's loose... we're in deeper trouble than we thought."
Myra's gaze darted between them, catching the flicker of dread in Dani's eyes. "What are we dealing with?"
Harrow's expression darkened. "Something that doesn't just rewrite reality. It erases it."
Dani swallowed, the weight of what was to come settling over her like a storm cloud.
"We don't have time," Harrow said. "If the sphere's occupant is free, it won't stop until it's remade everything in its image."
The cold air bit at Dani's skin, but she barely noticed. Instead, she felt the invisible chains tighten—the relentless pull of something ancient, vast, and hungry.
Myra stepped closer, placing a hand on Dani's arm. "You're not alone."
Dani gave a faint nod. But inside, the question burned brighter than ever.
Why does he want me to care so much?
The hallway still smelled faintly of ozone and steel polish, a stale scent that clung to every vent in Sector Delta. Dani didn't slow her pace when she and Myra stepped out of the alleyway entrance and into the main security corridor—just adjusted her coat, eyes forward, hands in pockets.
Kenton was already waiting at the junction, still slightly jittery from whatever mental gymnastics his powers had put him through. His hair was damp from sweat, not just exertion but the tremor of possibility. The moment he saw Dani, he jerked his chin toward the elevator bay.
"Harrow wants us in Control Room Two. Now."
Dani didn't ask for details—if Harrow was skipping the usual channel checks and going straight to an in-person briefing, something was bad enough to break protocol.
They moved fast, Myra shadowing them without a word, scanning every passing face like she was measuring the place's pulse. Sector Delta at night was never quiet—technicians hunched over schematics in glass-walled labs, patrol teams brushing past with rifles slung low, someone laughing too loudly by the vending machines before the sound cut off like they'd remembered where they were.
On a bench near the east hallway, a young containment officer was being patched up by medics—uniform singed, one arm wrapped in hastily applied burn gel. Across the room, two archivists argued over a data printout, their voices hushed but sharp, like the paper itself might burn if they got too close. The Delta hum was there, the constant background machinery of survival.
They passed a bulletin wall as they neared the Control Room. Half the papers were maintenance schedules, missing-equipment reports, and grainy security stills. But one sheet—slightly curled at the edges—made Myra stop cold.
It was an incident file. The name across the top in block letters: MATEO CALDERON. Her hand went up before she even knew why, fingertips brushing the rough paper. The document listed his classification—Anomalous Entity, containment level unspecified—and a red-stamped notation at the bottom:
Cause of death: systemic crystallization. Catalyst: unknown.
She read it twice. Her jaw worked, but no words came out. When she finally tore her eyes away, the paper trembled faintly in her hand before she forced herself to pin it back where it had been.
"Let's go," she said, voice low but steady. And that was it.
Dani glanced back once as they moved again. Myra's face had shifted—less guarded, but not cracked. There was weight there now, something that would anchor her even in the chaos to come.
Inside Control Room Two, Harrow stood over the central table, fingers splayed across a map. The surface was projected with a rotating 3D model of a spherical containment cell—massive, concrete, suspended by steel tension cables over what looked like a trench filled with brine. Dani recognized it instantly, though she'd never seen it in person.
"It's gone," Harrow said without preamble. "Stolen within the last five hours. No breach alarms, no displacement anomalies on record."
Kenton stepped closer, eyes narrowing at the model. "No alarms? Something that size should have—"
"Should have tripped every sensor from here to Moscow," Harrow cut in. "Which is why you three are going. We're not dealing with a simple theft. Whoever took it either bypassed every layer of detection or they had something that made the sphere… stop existing on our terms."
Myra's brow furrowed. "And what was in it?"
"That's classified until you reach the site," Harrow said flatly.
Dani felt the faint tightening in her gut at the word trigger. She didn't miss the way Kenton's expression shifted—calculating, maybe a touch excited despite himself.
"We'll need transport," Dani said, already glancing at the logistics display.
"It's being prepped," Harrow replied. "But decide now who's on your team. This isn't a training run."
That was when the thought hit Dani—Lance. She could almost hear his voice from earlier, the sharp little digs about Rico, about being left behind. If he's right, if part of me is doing this to prove something…
Her mind split cleanly in two.Cold logic: Lance was a liability. He had no combat capability. Bringing him would slow them down.Something else, quieter: He's human. He's survived everything so far without breaking. Why shouldn't he be treated as more than a placeholder?
The thought irritated her, mostly because she didn't have an answer that didn't make her sound like exactly what Lance accused her of being.
She glanced at Myra, who stood at the table's edge like she'd been there all her life. Calm, focused, ready to move. Dani knew if she brought Lance, Myra would clock the weakness instantly.
"I'll decide before we leave," Dani said finally.
Harrow didn't push, just pointed to the map. "You've got twenty minutes. Plan your approach."
They bent over the table, voices low. Kenton took point on the mapping—plotting possible ingress points, listing the gear they'd need. Myra asked precise, grounding questions: "What's the brine depth?" "How stable are the support cables?" "How many entry vectors without being spotted?" Dani found herself watching her more than once—steady hands, no wasted words.
The plan was shaping up fast: insertion by unmarked submersible, surface at the trench's edge, split roles—Kenton handling anomaly detection, Myra on structural breach, Dani on overwatch and direct engagement.
And that fourth slot, still empty in Dani's head.
The low hum of the submersible's engines was almost hypnotic, a steady pulse that swallowed the outside world in deep, filtered silence. Dani sat hunched against the cold metal wall, fingers absently tapping the curve of her coat pocket.
She tried to ease the tightness curling in her chest with a half-smile. "So, if this thing's missing, does that mean we get to save the world? Or just watch it burn in high-def?" Her voice was rough, coated with a practiced sarcasm that barely masked how close she was to snapping.
Myra shifted in the opposite seat, her gaze sharp but patient, as if cataloging not just Dani's words but the tremor beneath them. "You don't have to pretend here," she said quietly. "I'm not looking for a hero."
Dani blinked, surprised. "Not pretending." She rubbed the back of her neck, the joke falling flat. "Just… scared it's going to get worse before it gets better."
Kenton was crouched over the tablet interface, fingers dancing across schematics and real-time data. "The sphere's removal means the anomaly's containment is compromised. The brine trench may no longer serve as a suppressor." His voice was clinical, but the glint in his eye betrayed a mix of excitement and dread. "We're about to find out what happens when something like this breaks free."
"Great," Dani muttered. "So, apocalypse then. Got it."
Myra tilted her head slightly, studying Dani with a new intensity. "You're the team's overwatch, right? What's your read on the risk? If the sphere's gone, what's the first thing we should be ready for?"
Dani hesitated. The truth was raw and unsettled. "Everything's worse than it looks on paper." She paused, her voice dropping an octave. "And not just the sphere's absence. People in masks. Rituals. Something else out there. The kind of thing that doesn't just break glass—it breaks everything around it."
Kenton nodded solemnly. "The crystallization I've been testing might be related. If that substance is seeping into the trench, it could destabilize the entire support system."
Myra's eyes flicked between them both. "So we're walking into a trap. Or a ticking bomb."
Dani exhaled sharply and pushed herself to her feet, pacing the tight space. "Anyone else feel like the more we talk about this, the less prepared we actually are?"
Myra stood then, voice steady. "Let's focus. Map out ingress, egress, contingency. What if the sphere triggers something else? Something bigger?"
Dani nodded, her sarcasm fading into something harder—resolve. "Then we make sure it doesn't get past us."
The submersible dipped deeper, the murky green brine looming outside like a dark promise. And somewhere beneath, the missing sphere waited.