The hidden door sealed behind them with a soft hiss, locking out the echoes of sirens and pounding footsteps. The narrow hallway ahead was dimly lit, the air thick with dust and the faint hum of old machinery. Kiera's breath was still unsteady as she pressed a hand to the cold wall, trying to ground herself. They had escaped—for now. But the Architects wouldn't stop hunting her. That much was clear.
The older woman—who Kiera now knew the others called Marek—led the way with deliberate steps, her sharp gaze scanning every shadow. The younger man, the one with nervous energy and restless fingers, kept close behind, his lips pressed into a thin line. Kiera had learned his name in passing: Rhys. He hadn't said much to her since their escape, and she wasn't sure if it was mistrust or focus keeping him quiet. The last man, the one who had originally brought her here, still hadn't given his name. He moved like a ghost himself, always a step away from the light.
They walked for what felt like forever, weaving through corridors lined with abandoned terminals, old cables snaking along the walls. Kiera wasn't sure where they were, but the air had a dampness to it, a deep underground feeling that made her skin crawl.
Finally, they reached a heavy metal door at the end of the passage. Marek placed her hand on a scanner—an old, outdated model that flickered before accepting her imprint. The door groaned as it slid open, revealing something Kiera hadn't expected.
A city. Or what was left of one.
Beyond the doorway stretched an expanse of crumbling buildings and shattered streets, half-consumed by nature. Trees twisted through concrete, vines crawling up rusted metal frames. A thick mist curled around the ruins, giving the place an eerie stillness, as if time had stopped moving.
Kiera swallowed. "Where are we?"
Marek stepped forward, her expression unreadable. "The Outskirts. The city before the city. Before the Architects wiped it clean."
Kiera frowned. She had never seen anything like this before—never even heard of a place like this existing. The world she knew was sleek and controlled, every structure pristine, every street designed with purpose. But this? It was chaos. Unfiltered, untouched history.
She turned to Rhys. "Why would they erase this?"
Rhys let out a quiet breath, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "Because people lived here before the Architects took over. Before the system. Before everything was perfect."
The word hung between them, heavy with meaning.
Marek was already moving ahead, guiding them through the ruins. Kiera followed, her steps slow as she took in every broken window, every faded sign in a language she barely recognized. The ground beneath her feet felt different—real. Imperfect. It unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
They moved deeper into the forgotten city, past collapsed overpasses and hollowed-out buildings, until they reached a clearing. There, in the shadows of an old transit station, movement stirred.
Kiera tensed.
Figures emerged from the ruins, their forms barely visible through the mist. At first, she thought they were scavengers, like the ones she had seen in the outer districts—people who lived on scraps, hiding from the Architects' patrols. But as they stepped into the pale light, she realized they were something else entirely.
Their faces bore scars—some deep and jagged, others small but deliberate, like someone had cut something out of them. Their eyes, sharp and wary, flicked over Kiera and the others with suspicion. They wore mismatched clothes, layers of fabric stitched together from different times, different places. They moved with a quiet, almost eerie stillness, watching.
Marek stopped a few feet away from them and lifted her hands in a slow, deliberate motion. "We're not here to cause trouble."
A man stepped forward. His face was lined with age, his skin weathered. One of his eyes was cloudy, the other a sharp, burning amber. His gaze locked onto Marek's, unflinching.
"You shouldn't have come here," he said, his voice rough, like gravel grinding against metal. "You think you're different, but you still carry their poison."
Kiera stiffened.
Marek, however, didn't react. "We need safe passage," she said evenly. "Just for tonight."
The man let out a humorless laugh. "Safe? There's no such thing." His gaze flicked to Kiera, scanning her with something between curiosity and disdain. "Is this the one they're hunting?"
Kiera felt the weight of his stare like a physical force. She forced herself not to shrink under it.
Marek nodded once.
The man's expression darkened. He turned to the others, muttering something too low for Kiera to catch. A few of them shifted uneasily. One woman shook her head, stepping back as if Kiera carried some kind of disease.
"What's going on?" Kiera asked, her voice low.
Rhys glanced at her. "They think you're infected."
Kiera's stomach turned. "Infected?"
The older man looked at her again, his amber eye gleaming in the dim light. "With their control. Their programming." His lip curled slightly. "You think you're free, girl? You think just because you ran, you're safe? The Architects don't let go that easily."
Kiera's breath caught.
The others were staring at her now. Watching. Waiting.
Something cold settled in her chest.
Because deep down, she knew—