The next day comes quietly.
That's what unsettles you the most.
You wake to pale morning light filtering through cracked windows, dust floating lazily in the air like nothing in the world is wrong. The building is old, half-abandoned, and smells faintly of rust and damp concrete. Somewhere nearby, water drips steadily, each sound too loud in the silence.
For a moment, you don't move.
You lie on the thin mattress Azael dragged in sometime before dawn and stare at the ceiling. Your body aches in places you didn't know could ache. Your ribs protest when you breathe too deeply. Your head feels heavy, like you didn't fully come back from sleep.
Inside you, the hollow is quiet.
Not peaceful. Just still. Like something holding its breath.
You sit up slowly, swinging your legs over the side of the mattress. The concrete floor is cold under your bare feet. You wince as you stand, steadying yourself against the wall.
Across the room, Azael is awake.
He sits on a metal chair near the window, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together. His jacket lies folded on the floor beside him. The burn on his chest is wrapped in fresh bandages, but you can tell from the way he moves that it still hurts.
He looks up when he hears you move.
"You're awake," he says.
You nod. "What time is it?"
"Late morning," he replies. "We moved before sunrise."
Of course you did.
You walk slowly toward the small kitchenette in the corner of the room. It's barely functional, but there's running water, and right now that feels like a luxury. You fill a chipped glass and drink deeply, letting the cold ground you.
"They didn't follow us," you say after a moment.
"No," Azael agrees. "Not yet."
You glance at him over the rim of the glass. "That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be."
You set the glass down and lean against the counter. The events of the night before replay in your mind whether you want them to or not — the station collapsing, the Things learning, the way Kaelthyr's presence pressed against you like the weight of the world.
"They found us faster," you say quietly.
"Yes."
"Because of me."
Azael doesn't respond right away. He stands and walks over to the window, staring out at the empty street below.
"They're adjusting to you," he says finally. "Every encounter gives them more data."
You clench your jaw. "So what? I just stop using the hollow?"
"No," he says flatly. "That would get you killed."
"Then what do you want from me?" you snap.
He turns back to you, his expression tight but controlled.
"I want you alive," he says. "Long enough to matter."
You look away, pressing your palm flat against the counter. Your fingers tremble slightly.
"When he spoke to me," you say, "it wasn't like the others."
Azael stiffens. "What do you mean?"
"Kaelthyr," you continue. "It didn't feel like a threat. It felt like… a conversation he'd already had a hundred times."
"That's because he plans outcomes," Azael says. "Not reactions."
"He mentioned Mira."
The room goes very still.
"What exactly did he say?" Azael asks.
"That she's stable," you reply. "That she's useful."
Azael exhales slowly and drags a hand over his face.
"That confirms it," he mutters.
"Confirms what?"
"That he's no longer hiding her from you," Azael says. "He wants you aware."
You let out a short, bitter laugh. "Well, congratulations to him. It worked."
He steps closer. "You can't let that control you."
You turn on him sharply. "Don't say that like it's easy."
"I'm not saying it's easy," he replies. "I'm saying it's necessary."
You shake your head and walk back toward the mattress, sitting heavily on the edge. The hollow stirs faintly, reacting to your frustration.
"I don't think he wants to kill me," you say.
"No," Azael agrees. "He wants to finish you."
You snort. "That's worse."
"Yes."
Silence settles between you again. Outside, a car passes in the distance. Life going on, unaware.
"What's the plan?" you ask at last.
Azael straightens. "We stop pretending this is temporary."
You look up at him. "Meaning?"
"Meaning we stop running blind," he says. "We start preparing."
"For what?"
"For escalation."
Your stomach tightens. "So last night wasn't—"
"No," he says. "That was positioning."
You stand, pacing slowly despite the ache in your side.
"And now?"
"And now," Azael says, "he'll try to isolate you."
"He already tried that."
"He scared you," Azael corrects. "Next, he'll try to convince you."
"Convince me of what?"
"That Mira can't be saved," he says. "Or that only you can save her."
You stop pacing.
"That's manipulative."
"Yes."
"And effective."
"Yes."
You rub your hands together, staring at the floor. "What if he's right?"
Azael's voice sharpens. "He's not."
"You don't know that."
"I know him," Azael says. "And I know what happens to people who believe they're the exception."
You meet his gaze. "What happened to them?"
"They stopped being people."
The words settle heavily.
"We can't stay here," Azael says after a moment.
You nod. "I figured."
"There's a site outside the city," he continues. "Old infrastructure. Shielded."
"Safe?" you ask.
"No," he says honestly. "But defensible."
You hesitate. "And Mira?"
Azael looks at you carefully.
"She's not a rescue mission," he says. "Not yet."
"But she's alive."
"Yes."
That's enough.
You grab your bag and begin packing what little you have. There isn't much. You move automatically, trying not to think too far ahead.
Then pain slices through your head.
You gasp and grab the wall as your vision blurs. The hollow surges violently, like something pulling at it from the inside.
Azael is beside you instantly. "What is it?"
"He's doing something," you grit out.
"Kaelthyr?"
"Yes," you say. "Not here. Somewhere else."
The pressure spikes, then vanishes just as suddenly.
You sag against the wall, breathing hard.
"What did you see?" Azael asks.
"Nothing," you say. "Just—certainty."
"About what?"
You meet his eyes.
"He knows where we're going."
Azael doesn't swear. He doesn't panic.
He nods once.
"Then we move faster," he says.
"And if he corners us again?"
Azael reaches for his blade.
"Then," he says, "we make sure the next fight costs him something."
You sling your bag over your shoulder and head for the door.
Outside, the air is cool and ordinary.
But somewhere far beyond the city, something vast and patient adjusts its plans.
And this time, there will be no warning.
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