The bunker grew strangely quiet after Kai left.
No more footsteps.
No more shaking metal.
Only the soft hum of dying machines and the faint, blue cracks floating in the air like pieces of broken moonlight.
Yin Lie sat on the cold floor, leaning against the glass chamber that held Qin Mian.
His breathing was shallow.
His chest burned from bruised ribs, and his left wrist hung uselessly at his side.
But he wasn't focusing on the pain.
He was watching her.
The girl curled inside the containment cradle looked even smaller up close—like she had never grown beyond the moment she was taken. Her skin was pale, almost translucent under the dim lights. Her long dark hair drifted around her, like weightless shadows.
And her eyes…
Her eyes were closed, but he felt her looking at him all the same.
Inside the dream, she was awake.
Chen Gu and Thorne stayed several steps back, speaking in low whispers, giving Yin Lie space. They knew this moment wasn't for them.
A soft tone echoed in the air, gentle and trembling.
Then her voice followed.
"…you came back…"
Yin Lie closed his eyes.
He didn't answer immediately.
He simply placed his hand against the chilled glass.
Her voice grew clearer.
"You didn't leave."
"I told you I wouldn't," Yin Lie said quietly.
Inside her dream, the white room flickered into view again.
Qin Mian stood barefoot under the pale dreamlight, hands clasped in front of her chest like she wasn't sure what to do with them. She looked younger than she should have—like time had forgotten to touch her.
She took a small step closer.
"I thought… I thought maybe you were just another dream."
Her voice was softer than a whisper, almost broken.
"Everything I see fades."
Yin Lie shook his head.
"I'm real."
She blinked, as if trying to understand the meaning of the word.
Then she whispered:
"Real…"
She repeated it like she was tasting it.
A new word.
A forbidden one.
Yin Lie leaned his forehead gently against the glass.
"What happened to you, Qin Mian?" he asked softly.
Her hands tightened slightly.
For a long moment, she didn't reply.
It looked like her memory itself hurt to touch.
Then—
"They put me in the white room."
Her dream trembled.
The ceiling cracked.
"There were voices. There were needles. Machines. I tried to wake up… but every time I did, everything broke."
Her small voice trembled.
"So they told me not to wake up. Ever."
Yin Lie's chest tightened like someone had placed a cold hand inside it.
"And you did what they said?" he asked softly.
Her eyes lowered.
"I thought… if I stayed asleep… I wouldn't hurt anyone."
Something inside Yin Lie twisted sharply.
He didn't know if it was sorrow or anger or both.
Because she truly believed she was a danger—
not because she was,
but because someone forced her to think so.
She took another hesitant step forward inside the dream.
Her voice trembled like a child asking a forbidden question.
"Did I… hurt you?"
Yin Lie looked at his bruised chest, his shattered wrist, the cracked floor.
Then he smiled faintly.
"A little."
She gasped softly and covered her mouth.
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean—"
"It's okay," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "It's not your fault. None of this is your fault."
She lowered her hands slowly.
Her eyes shimmered in the dreamlight.
"…No one ever said that to me."
Yin Lie's breath caught.
"What did they tell you?" he asked.
Qin Mian stiffened.
Her voice came out like broken glass.
"That I was a mistake.
A weapon.
A curse.
A danger to the world."
Each word made her dream flicker, like a candle struggling against wind.
"And you believed them?" Yin Lie whispered.
She nodded once, small and fragile.
"Why?"
Her answer came as barely a breath:
"…because I never met anyone who said otherwise."
Silence filled the real bunker.
Chen Gu turned his face away, guilt tightening his jaw.
Thorne wiped his eyes with his sleeve.
Yin Lie reached out with his good hand and pressed it against the glass.
"Qin Mian," he said softly, "look at me."
Her eyes met his.
Soft.
Shaking.
Lost.
"You're not a curse," he said. "You're not a mistake. You're not a weapon."
She blinked quickly—as if she didn't know how to react.
Then she whispered:
"…then… what am I?"
Yin Lie took a slow breath.
"You're someone who deserves to wake up," he said.
"And you won't be alone this time."
The dreamlight around her warmed.
Flickered.
Started to glow.
Like she was absorbing his words.
For the first time in her life, maybe.
Then she lifted one hand—slowly, nervously—
and pressed her palm against the invisible barrier in her dream.
In the real world, her hand lifted weakly inside the cradle—
resting against the glass where Yin Lie's hand was placed.
Two worlds touching for the first time.
Qin Mian whispered:
"…I don't remember the sky."
Yin Lie's voice softened.
"Then I'll show it to you."
Her breath hitched.
"Really…?"
"Yes."
"But… what if I break things?"
"Then I'll hold them together."
"But… what if I break you?"
Yin Lie smiled faintly.
"Then I'll stand back up."
Qin Mian stared at him—
and he saw something change behind her eyes.
Hope.
Tiny.
Fragile.
But real.
The dream around her brightened.
For a moment, she even looked like she wanted to smile.
But the world wasn't ready to stay peaceful.
A deep tremor shook the bunker.
Lights flickered.
An alarm buzzed somewhere deep underground.
Thorne jumped.
"What now?! Don't tell me it's Kai AGAIN—!"
Chen Gu checked the screen and his face went pale.
"It's not Kai," he whispered.
"It's the resonance levels. They're rising too fast. If Qin Mian wakes up too suddenly—"
The room shook a second time, harder.
Dust rained down from the ceiling.
Qin Mian flinched inside the dream, clutching her head.
"No—no—make it stop—please—please—"
Yin Lie pressed his hand harder against the glass.
"Qin Mian. Look at me."
The cracking stopped.
Her breath steadied.
Because she wasn't looking at the shaking walls.
She wasn't listening to the alarms.
She was looking at him.
Yin Lie whispered:
"It's okay. I'm here."
Her eyes softened again.
"…Lie…"
The first time she said his name.
The bunker shook a final time—
then went still.
The cracks hanging in the air dimmed.
Qin Mian's dream stabilized.
She whispered again:
"Don't leave… please…"
"I won't," Yin Lie said.
And he knew he meant it.
Beyond the glass, beyond the broken machines, beyond the bunker walls—
her world was falling apart.
But inside her dream,
because of one simple promise—
a girl who had forgotten the sky
began to believe she could see it again.