I don't know where we're going.
The truck shakes on the underground roads. Uneven jolts make the metal creak and the panels clang. I'm sitting on the floor, back against a crate, knees pulled tight to my chest. The engine growls like an exhausted beast, and the smell of gas makes me nauseous.
I think I'm trembling.
But maybe it's just the truck.
Tinka's crouched across from me. She hasn't said a word. She handed me a blanket she had over her knees. She avoids my gaze, but I can feel her watching me from the corner of her eye. Like I'm a wounded animal. Something fragile. Or dangerous.
He's here too. The boy with green eyes.
We haven't spoken. Not a word. Not a name. I don't know anything about him - not even what he's thinking. But I remember his hand on my sleeve. The way he pulled me out of the hallway, without asking, without hesitation. He looked at me - and I followed. Without thinking.
He's on my right, silent, eyes lowered. He's shaking too. In sharp, uneven bursts, like something inside him won't stay still. His fists are clenched on his thighs. His nails are digging into his skin.
I'm cold.
I'm hot.
I hurt.
I can't stay still, can't relax. My muscles twitch on their own. My skull buzzes, like something is hammering behind my temples. There's a strange tension under my skin, like a slow-rising tingle.
I think I'm going to throw up.
I lurch forward, grab the wall, and retch into a corner of the truck. Just a burning trickle of acid. My stomach knots in pain, and my eyes sting. Tinka moves, finally. She comes over, steadies me with a hand on my shoulder. She brushes my hair back gently.
- It's the shock, she murmurs. Or... something else.
She rummages through a small pouch, searching for something, hesitates, then pulls out an old, scratched phone. She dials a number. My head spins.
I lie back down on the floor. My throat is on fire. My legs are trembling.
The boy - 047 - still says nothing. But I can tell it's the same for him. He's holding his head. Eyes screwed shut, like he's trying to smother something inside.
We drive for a long time.
Then the truck slows.
I hear voices. A brighter light seeps through the seams in the plating. A heavy door opens. People talking. I think someone says:
"Bring them this way."
They help us down. The air is damp, warmer. I feel like I'm leaving a foggy dream. The light stings. I squint. Thick walls, raw concrete. Corridors, stairs. More voices. Weapons. Eyes.
We're led into a quieter space. A separate room. Mattresses, a basin of water, some blankets.
Tinka guides us in. She's talking to someone behind me, but I'm not listening anymore.
I lie down without thinking.
I'm frozen.
And burning.
I close my eyes.
And that's when it starts.
---
A child runs ahead of me. Laughing. I can't see his face, but I know it's a boy. I know he matters. I know he's calling me.
- Mira, hurry up!
I try to run, but my legs are numb.
The scene shifts.
A hand in my hair. A soft voice. A woman. She kisses my forehead.
A taste of tea. The sound of warm wind in leaves. The fabric of a curtain, floating.
A pencil. A drawing. A bedside lamp. A room. Mine?
Then a voice - distant, distorted.
- Mira?
The boy is back. He's older. He's talking to me.
- Mira, it's me.
I open my eyes.
---
047 is leaning over me.
His face. His eyes. That feverish green.
He's looking at me with an intensity that cuts through everything.
And it all comes back.
Everything.
I gasp.
The room. The needles. The silence. The whispers. The slamming doors. And before that - before that - the morning light in a kitchen. Two bowls of cereal. A window. Two children. Two.
I lift my eyes to him.
I know. I know.
- Elijah.
My voice is cracked.
He drops to his knees beside me without a word. And then I throw myself into him. I don't care about anything else. I press into his chest, clutch at him like I'll die if I let go. My brother. My brother. How could I have forgotten.
He holds me. Tight. So tight it hurts.
And he's shaking.
- I knew it, he says. I knew it was you.
His hand slides through my hair, slowly, like he used to. I remember now. Everything. The games in the garden. The fights. The day I twisted my ankle and he carried me, crying harder than I was.
He fits back into place effortlessly. Like nothing changed.
- We got out, he whispers.
His voice is rough. I feel his tears against my temple.
I don't want to move. I never want to lose him again.
I hold him tighter.
---
Someone knocks on the door.
I freeze instantly, and I feel Elijah tense against me. His arms are still around my shoulders, and in his shallow breath, I sense the same thing as in mine: the fear that this moment will be cut short. That we'll be torn apart again.
But the voice that follows is soft. A little hesitant.
- Hey?... Can I come in?
The door opens slowly. A blond guy pokes his head in. I recognize him.
It's him. The one who drove the truck.
He looks relieved to see us awake. He's smiling, a little awkward, hair a mess, jacket open over a wrinkled t-shirt.
- Ah, you're awake. Good. You were out so long I was starting to think you were pretending just to avoid talking to me.
I say nothing. Elijah doesn't either. We still don't know who he is, or what he wants. But he doesn't come too close. He crouches a little way off, hands open, relaxed.
- I'm Gunther, he says. Usually I'm a pilot. Today I've got nothing to drive, so I figured I'd come check in. Tinka's busy writing up her report - the loop stuff, you know. So I'm filling in.
I feel Elijah relax a little. Gunther doesn't feel like a threat. He talks like we're normal. Like we aren't two lab mistakes escaped from a nightmare.
- And you? What are your names? If it's not too early to ask.
I take a breath.
- Mira.
My voice is hoarse, but saying it helps. Saying my name.
Next to me, Elijah answers:
- Elijah.
Gunther nods, genuinely interested.
- Nice duo. Sounds straight out of a novel.
He stands up, offers his hand, but doesn't push us to take it.
- I need to take you to the infirmary. Just for a check-up. Think you can walk?
I nod. Elijah helps me to my feet, gently. My legs are like jelly, but I can stand. Barely. Gunther gives us time. He doesn't rush. He opens the door, lets us go first.
The hallways of the Citadel are strange. Old and solid, but alive. Ancient beams, marble worn by footsteps, metal walls.. It's not cold.
It's not a prison.
And yet, I'm not at ease.
At the infirmary, a woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun waits for us. She doesn't talk much. She sets up a table, pulls out tubes, syringes.
When she approaches with the needle, I instinctively step back.
I don't even have time to say no - Elijah steps back too. We look at each other. Same reaction.
The nurse frowns.
- It's nothing, just a blood sample...
- Stop, Gunther cuts in.
He steps between her and us. He didn't raise his voice, but she stops immediately.
- If they don't want to, they don't want to. They've seen enough needles for ten lifetimes. We don't push it.
The nurse looks at him, then at us, then sighs.
- Fine. But at least let me check your vitals. I can already tell the first symptoms are here. Tremors, nausea... You were likely drugged. Sudden withdrawal. The girl's more affected than the boy.
I lower my eyes.
Elijah speaks for me.
- It didn't work as well on me, I think. There were... leftovers. Bits and pieces. Vague sensations. It was blurry, but not completely gone.
I look at him, grateful. He speaks softly. He's trying to spare me.
- "Will we... get everything back? All the memories?" I ask.
The nurse shrugs.
- "Some, probably. Others... hard to say. Every case is different. The mind protects itself. Sometimes it buries the wounds deep. Sometimes it lets them loose all at once."
She hasn't even finished her sentence when I suddenly get to my feet and rush to a corner of the room. I vomit again. Only water, but it twists my insides.
I apologize.
- "Sorry. I... I'm so sorry."
But Gunther steps closer, hands me a towel, and murmurs:
- "You've got nothing to be sorry for, little one. You must've been through hell."
I look at him. He means it.
And for the first time, I feel the faintest trace of safety.