While Nero still waited for answers from Helia, they entered the shaft. The passage Helia guided him into was so narrow they were forced to crouch low with their shoulders brushing against cold metal as they moved forward inch by inch.
The surface beneath Nero's palms was frigid and untouched by warmth or recent activity, carrying the unmistakable feel of something abandoned.
A faint pulse from distant machinery echoed through the ductwork with a steady, almost organic thrum that vibrated through his bones and made it difficult to tell where the sound ended and his own heartbeat began.
Helia crawled ahead of him without hesitation with her movements quiet and deliberate. The soft glow of her baton illuminated the path just enough to keep them from plunging into darkness. Nero noticed the tension she tried but failed to hide: the stiffness in her shoulders, the careful regulation of her breathing, the way her grip tightened each time a sound echoed too loudly.
She was worried. No, she was afraid.
And yet, she didn't slow.
Nero admired her for that more than he cared to admit.
"Helia," he whispered, his voice barely louder than the hum of the ducts. "About the imprint..."
She stopped.
Not abruptly or dramatically, but her body simply locked in place with every muscle tightening at once. The silence that followed stretched thin and fragile, like glass waiting to crack.
After a moment, she turned her head just enough for her profile to catch the faint blue light.
"Nero," she said softly, "not here."
His chest tightened. "Why?"
"Because this is not the place to discuss truths that can break someone from the inside."
Her calmness unsettled him more than fear would have. It was too measured and careful.
"Helia," he said while reaching forward and brushing her arm, "don't treat me like I'll shatter from knowing the truth."
She hesitated. Her lips parted as if to respond, but instead she turned away and continued crawling. Nero followed with frustration knotting in his chest.
They reached a vertical section where a grated wall overlooked the corridor below. Helia lifted a hand sharply.
"Wait."
Voices drifted up through the grate. Boots struck metal flooring in tight, coordinated rhythms. Nero recognized the sound instantly.
Not corrupted units. Humans.
Uniformed Archive Security.
A mechanical drone hovered beside them with its sensors sweeping methodically across the hall.
"Team Alpha-Three reporting," a crisp voice said. "No visual on the Continuator."
Another voice crackled through a comm channel, cold and precise. "Remember your orders. Locate the Continuator. Do not neutralize. Contain and return to the Architect."
Upon hearing "Architect," Nero felt dread circulate through his body.
Contain and return.
Helia's jaw clenched so tightly Nero heard the faint click of her teeth grinding together.
"They're talking about me," he whispered.
She nodded slowly.
The officer below continued, "Authorization granted for full restraint protocols. The prototype must be recovered in functional condition."
"Prototype," Nero breathed.
Helia reached back and squeezed his wrist once, firm and grounding, a silent promise that he wasn't alone.
The patrol moved on with their voices fading until only the distant whir of the drone remained. When the corridor finally fell silent, Helia exhaled slowly as though she'd been holding her breath for far too long.
"Helia," Nero whispered, "what are they trying to do to me?"
She didn't answer.
Instead, she motioned for him to follow and guided them deeper into the duct system until the hum of machinery dulled into a distant murmur.
They emerged into a small service chamber where the metal floor flattened out enough for them to stand.
Helia stopped there.
The baton's light flickered across her face and cast long shadows under her eyes. She still hadn't looked at him.
"Helia," Nero said more firmly. "I saw your face back there. In the memory room, you recognized something. You knew what the imprint meant."
She finally lifted her gaze. Nero wished she hadn't.
The sadness in her eyes wasn't fleeting or uncertain. It was carved deep, old and enduring.
"Nero," she said quietly, "imprinting isn't casual. It isn't like forming a memory with a caretaker or a friend."
He swallowed. "Then what is it?"
"It's a bond," she said. "Formed during early memory development. It becomes a baseline, an emotional constant."
"An anchor," he repeated faintly.
She nodded. "Someone whose presence defined safety for you. Before they were taken away."
"Who?" Nero whispered. "Who was it?"
Her gaze dropped.
"Helia. Tell me."
"I can't," she replied with distress showing in her voice.
"You won't," he corrected as anger crept into his voice. "That's different."
Her breath hitched, just barely.
He stepped closer. "Why are you hiding this from me?"
"Because if you learn too quickly—"
"You mean if I learn what the Architect did to me."
She flinched.
The guilt she'd been hiding surfaced and was unmistakable now.
"Helia," he said softly, "did you know?"
"Not everything," she whispered. "Not enough to stop it, but too much to pretend I didn't."
That hurt more than he expected. "For how long?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Nero—"
"How long have you known I wasn't normal?"
"Since the day I met you," she said. "You're too precisely structured. Too synchronized. Too stable."
"Stable?" he echoed hollowly.
She nodded. "Most children with a Veyra core implanted at infancy don't survive their first year. Their minds collapse under the strain. Emotional overload tears the system apart."
Prototype Eleven's screams echoed in Nero's memory. His hands trembled.
Helia reached for him instinctively.
He stepped back.
"How many of them came before me?" he whispered. "How many prototypes?"
Helia opened her mouth and froze.
A metallic click echoed behind Nero. Then blinding white light flooded the vent.
Helia grabbed him and forced him down as a spotlight burned through the grate and scanned the chamber.
An Archive drone hovered outside, sleek and black with restraint clamps unfolding.
"Subject located," it announced. "Alerting Architect. Continuator restored to detection range."
Helia swore violently and shoved Nero down the shaft. "Go—now!"
The drone fired.
White energy tore through the metal as sparks exploded around them while Helia shielded Nero with her body. The duct shook violently as the drone rammed into it and ripped the wall open.
Voices shouted nearby.
"This way! Continuator signature confirmed!"
They slid down the vertical passage as alarms screamed and the shaft narrowed dangerously. Below them, a maintenance corridor opened just in time.
Helia twisted midair and landed hard on a pipe while yanking Nero down beside her.
The drone followed.
"Nero," she whispered urgently, "check the dampener."
He touched the patch on his neck. It flickered weakly.
"The Architect's overriding it."
Helia's expression hardened. "Then we do this the hard way."
She grabbed his hand. They ran.
Security units poured in from one side, drones from the other, containment squads closing in ahead.
Helia squeezed his hand tighter. "Run with me."
And Nero did.
Because despite every truth she couldn't say, every secret she carried, every fracture between them, she was still the one fighting to keep him alive.