They moved in silence.
Not because they wanted to—but because the walls were listening.
Eira cradled the modified shard device against her chest, wrapped in a strip of synthcloth from Wren's cluttered stash. The warmth of it throbbed like a second pulse, erratic and stubborn.
Ysel led with her weapon lowered but never holstered, her eyes scanning every vent and panel seam. Kael trailed behind, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. Wren stayed in the middle, one hand on the mobile decryptor slung across their back, the other fiddling with a small transceiver that clicked like a broken metronome.
They moved through a half-collapsed filtration tunnel lit only by the dull red glow of Wren's scanner. The city groaned above them—too alive, too aware.
Eira felt it. The city's heartbeat, always beneath her skin.
Only now it felt... off. Like something breathing too fast.
"We need to hit a cold zone," Wren whispered. "This whole pipe's hot. Registry's mapping for memory spikes. They're not just chasing us. They're predicting."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You said this route was safe."
"I said it was mostly safe," Wren whispered back. "Probability-based. And probability is a moody god."
"Enough," Ysel snapped. "We move."
But Eira had stopped.
She was staring at a wall—no different than the others—except this one was... flickering.
Like static.
Like thought residue.
"Eira?" Kael asked.
She lifted a hand slowly.
A faded shape bloomed across the wall. A child's drawing—no, a memory burn. A figure with two dots for eyes and a curved smile. Next to it, a taller one. Holding hands.
"I made this," she said quietly. "They missed it."
Wren stepped closer, eyes sharp behind their lenses. "That's not a burn. That's a trace. It's leaking because of the shard's proximity. You're waking old data."
Kael stepped between her and the wall, gently but firm. "We have to go."
"But—"
"They're close."
The sound came next—far off, but rising. A low, shrill whine.
Registry drones.
They had minutes. Maybe less.
Ysel grabbed Wren's shoulder. "Which tunnel."
"That one—left. No scanners. I rigged the floor plates."
They ran again.
Eira stumbled, catching herself on Kael's arm. Her breath was ragged. "I can't tell what's memory and what's now."
"I know," he said.
She looked up at him, voice breaking. "I'm scared I'll forget what's real."
He gripped her hand tighter. "Then hold on to me."
They slipped into the tunnel just as a light flared at the far end of the one they'd left.
Too close.
Far too close.
Behind them, the flickering wall pulsed once.
Then went still.
Their new hideout wasn't even a room—just the hollow belly of a forgotten transit junction, long since sealed from public use. The floor was slanted, cracked in places, and the ceiling dipped so low in parts they had to crouch. Faint light bled through the grates above, dappled with dust.
But it was off-grid. That mattered more than comfort.
Eira sat with her back against the wall, still holding the shard like it might disappear if she loosened her grip. Her fingers ached. She hadn't realized how tightly she'd been clutching it.
Kael knelt in front of her. "Are you hurt?"
"No," she whispered. "Just... full."
He didn't ask what that meant. Maybe he already knew.
Wren busied themself in a corner, setting up a signal jammer made from parts that looked like they came from an oven and a defunct Registry bot.
Ysel, silent and sharp-eyed, stood near the only exit.
It wasn't until the silence stretched too long that the tension snapped.
"You saw it," Ysel said suddenly, to Eira. "You stopped. Again."
Eira blinked, startled. "I—what?"
"That wall trace," Ysel continued. "You froze. You nearly compromised the entire route."
"I didn't mean—"
"But you did. You hesitated." Ysel's voice wasn't cruel. It was cold. Practical. "You let the past override the mission. Again."
Kael stood. "That's enough."
"She's not wrong," Eira said quietly.
The others looked at her.
"I keep slipping," she said. "I can't tell what's mine anymore. What I remember. What the shard remembers. My mother's voice feels more real than my own thoughts."
She looked at Kael. "I don't know how to carry this."
Wren didn't look up from the device, but their voice was gentle. "No one knows how to carry memory. They just pretend to."
Ysel turned away. "We can't afford pretending."
Eira lowered her eyes. "Then maybe I'm the weak link."
Silence.
Kael stepped forward, slower this time. "You're not. But you're bleeding, Eira. Inside. And you keep trying to hide it."
She didn't answer.
Instead, she asked the question that had been circling her mind since the escape:
"What happens if I lose myself to this?"
No one had an answer.
Not even Wren.