They didn't stop running until the city thinned and the rain turned from needles to mist.
A service stairwell swallowed them—rusted door, flickering light, the smell of oil and old water. He slammed the door shut and dragged a metal bar into place. The echo rang too loud in the tight space.
She leaned against the wall, chest heaving. "Tell me this ends."
He tore a strip from his shirt and wrapped his bleeding arm with practiced efficiency. "Nothing ends. It just pauses."
She laughed once, sharp and humorless. "That's comforting."
He met her gaze. "It's honest."
The light flickered again. She hated that it did that—like the world couldn't decide whether to show itself or hide. She hated that she noticed.
"Who is she?" she asked.
He tightened the wrap. "Her name is Mara."
The name landed heavier than it should have. "She knew me."
"She trained you."
Her breath caught. "I was never trained."
He finally looked up. "You were conditioned."
The word scraped. "You're saying I was… what. A weapon?"
"No," he said quickly. "A key."
Silence pooled between them.
"A key to what?" she whispered.
He opened his mouth—then stopped.
Her phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN: Ask him about the burn room.
She stared at the message until the words blurred. "What's the burn room?"
He closed his eyes.
"That bad?" she asked.
He nodded once. "Worse."
She pushed off the wall. "I'm done being edited. If I'm a key, I want to know the door."
He took a breath, steadying himself. "There's a facility beneath the river. No name. No records. We call it the burn room because nothing leaves it intact—files, memories, people. It's where erasures become permanent."
Her head throbbed. The ache returned, rhythmic now, like a signal.
"And me?"
"You were assigned there," he said. "To observe."
"Observe what?"
"Us," he replied. "The shadows."
A noise outside—tires on gravel. He went still, hand lifting. She held her breath.
Voices drifted past. Close. Searching.
"They're sweeping," he murmured. "We move in sixty seconds."
"Wait," she said. "If I was assigned to watch you… why save me?"
He hesitated. Again.
"Because you didn't look away," he said. "Everyone else did."
The stairwell door rattled.
He grabbed her wrist. "Now."
They burst out the back, cutting through an alley slick with rain, vaulting a low fence into a maintenance yard. A train horn wailed in the distance. Opportunity.
They ran for the tracks as headlights flared behind them. A shout. Footsteps.
He shoved her forward. "Jump!"
She did—rolling hard onto gravel as a slow-moving freight thundered past. He followed, timing it, grabbing a ladder and hauling himself up, then reaching down to pull her with him.
They clung to cold steel as the city slid away.
Minutes passed. Then more. The adrenaline ebbed, leaving her hands shaking.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "Don't stop."
He didn't.
When the train finally slowed near an industrial spur, they dropped off and disappeared into a warehouse shell—empty, echoing, alive with old secrets.
He locked the door. Checked corners. Set a small device on the floor; it hummed softly.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Noise eater," he said. "Buys us time."
She sat on a crate, head in her hands. The ache behind her eyes peaked—and broke.
Memory flooded in.
A glass wall.
Mara on the other side, calm as ever.
A question, repeated.
If he dies, do you breathe easier?
Her answer—soft, terrified, honest.
No.
She looked up, eyes blazing. "I chose you."
He froze.
"In the burn room," she continued. "They asked me to decide if you were expendable."
He swallowed. "And?"
"I failed them," she said. "On purpose."
A beat.
Then his shoulders sagged, relief and guilt colliding. "That's why they accelerated your erasure."
"And that's why they're after me now," she finished. "I'm a loose end."
"Yes."
She stood. "Then here are my terms."
He raised an eyebrow.
"No more secrets that involve my life," she said. "No choosing for me. And if we go to that facility—"
"When," he corrected.
"—I walk in awake," she finished. "All of it. Even if it hurts."
He studied her for a long moment. "You might not like who you were."
She met his stare. "I already don't."
A low chime sounded from the device.
His expression sharpened. "They're close."
Her phone buzzed one last time.
UNKNOWN: You were never meant to survive the choice.
She typed back before fear could stop her.
HER: Watch me.
The warehouse lights snapped on.
Mara's voice echoed from the catwalk above. "Negotiations," she said pleasantly, "are better face-to-face."
He moved in front of her.
She stepped beside him.
"Together," she said.
Mara smiled. "That," she replied, "is exactly the problem."