"Purge?" Finch squeaked, hugging his laptop to his chest. "That sounds bad. 'Purge' is bad, right?"
"Run," Lyric said.
It wasn't a suggestion.
The portal the Architect had vanished through snapped shut. A split second later, the cavern walls began to turn white.
Not white like paint. White like paper.
The rusted pipes, the grime, the steam—it all lost its texture. The colors drained away, replaced by thin blue grid lines. The reality of the Central Boiler was being overwritten with a blank blueprint.
"He's deleting the room!" Rook yelled, grabbing Finch by the back of his coffee-stained shirt. "Move!"
They scrambled toward the exit Rook had hotwired earlier. Behind them, the silence was terrifying. There was no explosion, no crumbling rock. Just the sound of erasure—a soft, digital whoosh as matter turned into math, and then into nothing.
Lyric glanced back. The massive vertical pipe—the one Lyric had damaged—was already gone. The white void was spreading across the floor, eating the catwalks.
"Don't touch the white!" Lyric shouted. "If it deletes the floor, you fall forever!"
"Encouraging!" Finch screamed, tripping over his own shoelaces.
Rook hauled him up. They reached the heavy blast doors. Rook hit the release panel.
Nothing happened. The panel was already turning white, the buttons dissolving into sketches of buttons.
"The code is gone!" Rook panicked, slamming his fist against the door. "He deleted the lock mechanism!"
"Step back," Lyric ordered.
Lyric didn't have time to be careful. The white void was ten feet away, erasing the air itself.
Lyric slammed a shoulder into the door, placing a hand on the center of the metal.
Erase.
Lyric didn't try to erase the lock. Lyric erased the door.
The heavy steel slab vanished instantly.
The sudden change in air pressure sucked them through the hole. They tumbled out into the hallway just as the Central Boiler dissolved completely behind them.
Where the door had been, there was now just a flat, white wall. Seamless. Perfect. As if the boiler room had never existed.
Rook scrambled backward on the dirty floor of the hallway, breathing hard. He stared at the blank wall.
"That," Rook wheezed, "was way too close. He didn't just clean up the crime scene. He removed the zip code."
Finch was checking his laptop frantically, patting the casing to make sure it was real. "The data! Is the data safe?"
He typed a few keys. A map popped up on the screen.
"It's here," Finch breathed, slumping against the wall. "I still have the packet. He didn't scrub the download."
Lyric leaned against the opposite wall, sliding down until they hit the floor. The adrenaline was fading, leaving a dull ache in the ribs where the Architect had kicked them.
"Valerius," Lyric said softly. "Show me."
Finch sat cross-legged on the floor of the hallway. It was a service tunnel, dimly lit and smelling of old grease, safely outside the deletion zone.
He turned the laptop so Lyric could see.
A grainy ID photo hovered on the screen. It was the other half of the picture Lyric had carried. The man was young, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp features and the same gray eyes as Lyric. He wasn't smiling in this ID. He looked serious. Tired.
NAME: VALERIUS VEYNE
STATUS: DISPLACED (VOID-SPACE)
LOCATION: THE VAULT (SECTOR ZERO)
"He looks like you," Rook said quietly, leaning over Lyric's shoulder.
"He's my brother," Lyric said. The word felt strange in the mouth, but right in the heart. A memory tried to surface—a laugh, a shared meal—but it was slippery, gone before Lyric could grab it.
"Okay," Finch said, adjusting his glasses. "So, good news: We know who he is. Bad news: Sector Zero doesn't technically exist on any public map. It's the Guild's basement. The basement under the basement."
"How do we get there?" Lyric asked.
Finch tapped a key, and the map zoomed out.
"We are here," Finch pointed to a blinking dot in the Underground. "The Vault is… well, down. About three miles of solid rock down."
"We dig?" Rook asked.
"No, you idiot, we can't dig three miles," Finch snapped, his fear turning back into arrogance now that he was safe. "We need a lift. There's an old supply shaft that feeds the Vault. It's called 'The Throat'."
"The Throat," Lyric repeated. "Sounds inviting."
"It's an automated drop-shaft," Finch explained. "Drones go down with supplies for the guards. Nothing comes up. If we can hijack a supply drone, we can ride it down."
"Ride a drone," Rook muttered. "Down a three-mile hole. Into a maximum-security prison for souls. Sure. Why not."
Lyric stood up, wincing as the ribs protested. "We need gear. If we're going down there, we need weapons, food, and… light. My head is already pounding again. If I get closer to the source of the memories, the static is going to be blinding."
"I have a stash," Rook said, standing up and dusting off his pants. "Not far from here. It's where I keep the good stuff. We can resupply there."
Finch closed his laptop. "I, uh, I think this is where I get off the ride, right? I got the data. I hacked the Architect. I'm a hero. I'm gonna go hide in a hole for six months until the heat dies down."
Lyric looked at the scrawny hacker. He was shaking. He had done his part.
"You can go," Lyric said. "Send the map to Rook's datapad."
Finch looked relieved. He quickly transferred the file. "Good luck, Unit 7. You're gonna need it. The Vault… the rumors say things down there don't die. They just… linger."
"Thanks for the pep talk," Rook said. "Get lost, Finch."
Finch didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled up and ran down the hallway, disappearing around a corner.
Lyric and Rook were alone again.
"You okay?" Rook asked, eyeing Lyric.
"I erased him, Rook," Lyric said, looking at the blank white wall where the boiler room used to be. "Valerius. I didn't just forget him. I put him in a cage."
"You didn't know," Rook said firmly. "And now you're going to get him out. That counts for something."
Lyric pushed off the wall. "Let's get your gear. We have a train to catch."
Rook's "stash" was inside a hollowed-out billboard hanging over a massive chasm in the residential sector of the Underground. They had to shimmy across a narrow beam to get inside.
Inside, it was surprisingly cozy. A hammock, a pile of scavenged tech, and a heavy metal trunk.
Rook popped the lock on the trunk.
"Okay, shopping time," Rook said, tossing items to Lyric. "Flashlights. High-lumen. Rations—tastes like chalk, keeps you alive. Med-kit."
Lyric caught the med-kit and immediately opened it, pulling out a spray canister of analgesic foam. Lyric lifted the shirt—wincing—and sprayed the bruised ribs. The cold foam numbed the pain instantly.
"Better," Lyric exhaled.
"And for the main event," Rook said, pulling out a long, wrapped bundle from the bottom of the trunk.
He unwrapped the oilcloth. Inside was a sword.
It wasn't a normal sword. The blade was dark, matte gray, and looked jagged, like a piece of obsidian. The handle was wrapped in rough leather.
"I found this in a wreck near the Core last year," Rook said, handing it to Lyric. "It's not metal. It's ceramic, I think. But it cuts through plasteel like butter. Since you like getting up close and personal."
Lyric took the weapon. It was light. Perfectly balanced. Lyric gave it a test swing. The muscle memory kicked in instantly—the grip tightened, the stance shifted.
"It works," Lyric said, sheathing it in a loop on the canvas coat. "Thanks."
"I got my trusty cutter," Rook said, patting the laser tool on his belt. "And a couple of EMP grenades I cooked up. Should work on the drones."
Rook zipped up his backpack and looked at Lyric.
"Veyne," he said, his tone serious.
"Yeah?"
"The Vault. If we go down there… there's no coming back up the same way. Finch said nothing comes up 'The Throat'. It's a one-way trip unless we find another exit."
"I know."
"And if Valerius is… you know. Gone? Or changed?"
"I have to see," Lyric said. "I can't live with this empty space in my head, Rook. I need to know what I did."
Rook nodded. He grabbed a pair of climbing gloves and tossed them to Lyric.
"Then let's go jump down a hole."
Getting to "The Throat" was easier than Lyric expected. According to the map, the drop-shaft was located in a logistics hub on the edge of the Underground, where the Guild dumped their waste and supplies.
They stood on a catwalk looking down into a massive, circular pit.
It was dark. Pitch black. The only light came from the occasional drone—small, buzzing machines carrying crates—that descended from the ceiling and vanished into the abyss below.
The wind coming up from the hole smelled sterile. Cold.
"That's a long way down," Rook whispered, gripping the railing.
"We need to catch one," Lyric said, watching the pattern. "They pause for a second at the checkpoint ring, right there." Lyric pointed to a metal ring about twenty feet below them. "Then they drop."
"So we jump onto a moving drone, hold on for dear life, and ride it for three miles," Rook summarized. "Standard Tuesday."
"I'll go first," Lyric said. "I'll clear the landing."
"Wait," Rook said. "Look."
He pointed to a drone that was currently hovering at the ring. It wasn't carrying crates. It was carrying a coffin.
A sleek, black pod, sealed tight.
"Supplies for the guards?" Lyric asked.
"Or a new prisoner," Rook said darkly. "Looks like we aren't the only ones going to the Vault today."
Lyric climbed over the railing. "We hitch a ride on that one. It's bigger. More room to stand."
"On the coffin. Right. Classy."
Lyric didn't wait. They timed the jump.
One. Two. Three.
Lyric dropped.
The air rushed past. Lyric landed on top of the black coffin-pod with a heavy thud. The drone lurched, the engines whining to compensate for the weight, but it held.
Lyric looked up and waved.
Rook took a breath, muttered something that sounded like a prayer to the God of Bad Ideas, and jumped.
He landed next to Lyric, scrambling for a grip on the smooth metal.
"Gotcha," Lyric said, grabbing his jacket to steady him.
The drone beeped. A red light scanned the barcode on the coffin.
> CARGO VERIFIED.
> DESCENT INITIATED.
The engines disengaged.
They dropped.
It wasn't a slow descent. It was a freefall.
Rook screamed. Lyric grabbed the edges of the pod, the wind tearing at the coat. The lights of the Underground—the warm yellow lanterns, the fires, the life—shot upward and vanished.
They plunged into the dark.