Ayla stood at the edge of the platform, her fingers refusing to relax.
She felt the air push forward as the train entered the station.Instinctively, she stepped half a pace back.
The person behind her didn't stop and bumped into her shoulder.
"Sorry," they said, already walking past, tone casual.
Ayla didn't turn around.
The gust didn't stop.
It simply shifted direction, sliding along the platform's edge,as if searching for something.
She looked up and noticed the lights at the far end of the platform were uneven.
One side appeared slightly dimmer.
She started walking that way.
The closer she got, the fewer people remained nearby.
Some turned away halfway.Some stopped to check their phones.
A small pocket of space opened up.
Ayla stopped and took a deep breath.
That familiar discomfort returned.
She stepped forward anyway.
The ground sank subtly beneath her foot.
The rebound came a beat late.
Her shadow clung to her feet, stretching longer than usual.Its edges blurred.
She didn't retreat.
In the next moment, the shadow bulged.
Like compressed fabric forced upward from the ground.
Limbs emerged first.The motion was discontinuous, yet precise.
Ayla swung her bag aside and lowered her center of gravity.
As it lunged forward, she twisted her body out of the way.
A sharp, stinging numbness shot up her arm as their shoulders brushed.
Her sense of direction warped.
She reached back and grabbed its arm.
The texture wasn't skin.It felt more like cold, damp rubber.
She yanked hard.
The thing lost balance and slammed into the wall.
The sound arrived a beat late.
Ayla's throat tightened.
She knew she couldn't drag this out.
She stepped in, driving her knee into its abdomen.
The force was right.
The timing wasn't.
It staggered back, then steadied itself, movements faster than before.
Her vision began to double.
The same motion appeared twice.
She clenched her teeth and forced herself backward.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
The shadow retracted, pulled back into the ground.
The discomfort faded.
The thing took one step back and collapsed.
No trace remained.
Ayla leaned against the wall for a moment.
Her fingers trembled.
She knew she hadn't won.
Only that a condition had been met.
—
At the same time, in ARC's monitoring room, only data moved.
"Target lost," a field agent reported.
"Not lost," Research replied. "De-localized."
On the screen, a waveform was highlighted.
Not an abnormal spike, but a structurally intact residue.
"Can it be recovered?" someone asked.
The Research lead didn't answer immediately.
Her finger hovered over the data.
"It can be attempted," she said. "But it will take time."
Operations frowned.
"Erasure is faster."
"Erasure leaves no sample," Research looked up. "This does."
The room fell silent for a second.
Alden stood at the back, watching the screen.
He knew both options were valid.
And both would leave consequences.
—
Elsewhere, Emilia sat in a chair, arms wrapped around her knees.
Breathing felt difficult.
She closed her eyes.
After a while, the pressure slowly receded.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
Familiar. Steady.
She didn't look up.
"Better?" Rowan Cross asked.
She nodded.
—
By the time Ayla exited the station, the sun was fully up.
The street had returned to its usual noise.
No one noticed the slightly darker patch of ground by the wall.
She stopped and looked at her hands.
They were still numb.
She suddenly understood something.
Not every choice can be corrected.
Some can only be borne.
You cannot pretend that every choice remains valid,as misalignment continues to spread.
The cost was accumulating.
Quietly.