The floor shook behind them—each step of the R-Unit punching shockwaves through the rusted metal. Nero didn't dare look back. His lungs burned, his legs felt like they weren't even his anymore, but he kept running because Helia's hand was still in his.
And somehow… that was enough.
Sparks rained from the ceiling. Dim amber lights flickered like dying fireflies. Every corridor looked the same—twisted pipes, hanging wires, half-collapsed beams—but Nero kept moving by instinct, following the faint tug of Veyra pulsing under his skin.
Left. Down. Slide under the broken arch.
He didn't think—he knew.
"Up ahead!" Helia shouted, pointing to a half-open bulkhead door. "It leads to the transit shafts!"
They sprinted toward it just as the Unit's metal claws slammed into the wall behind them, carving a trench through steel.
Nero ducked inside first, dragging Helia with him. The door stuttered, sparks bursting from the busted motor.
"Come on, come on—!" Helia kicked the frame.
The bulkhead slammed shut.
A second later, the Unit crashed into it.
The entire wall warped inward.
Nero backed away on trembling legs, staring at the dented metal, expecting it to tear open any moment.
Helia leaned against the opposite wall, chest rising and falling with each frantic breath. She wiped sweat from her forehead, her voice barely steady.
"That… was not supposed to happen."
Nero tried to laugh. It came out as more of a broken cough. "…Which part?"
"Any of it."
They stood in silence, listening to the distant mechanical roar—either the Unit lost their signal… or it was searching for another way around.
Neither option was comforting.
Nero finally slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, breathing hard. Helia joined him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, but not quite. Even after everything, she kept a small, careful distance—as if unsure where the line was.
He didn't blame her.
She'd seen him lose control. She'd seen the Archive react to him.
She'd seen the Unit get knocked back—by him.
Nero stared at his hands. They were still shaking, faint streaks of teal still glowing in the veins beneath the skin.
"What was that?" he whispered.
Helia didn't answer at first. She was staring at him—not the way someone stares at a threat or a freak, but the way someone stares at a puzzle they desperately want to understand.
"You focused it," she said quietly. "You didn't let it tear you apart. You directed it.You used it properly."
Nero swallowed. "I didn't know I could."
"You weren't supposed to." Her expression tightened—not with anger, but something close to… regret. "Veyra isn't meant to obey emotions. It reacts to instability, fear, stress—never intent."
"But it did."
"I know."
There was something in her voice Nero didn't understand. A mix of awe and worry. A silent warning she didn't know how to word.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.They were exhausted from running and escaping.They tried to regain their energy.
Machines hummed faintly under the grated floor. A cold draft swept past them—a reminder that the Archive is still the problem, shifting around them whether they liked it or not.
Finally, Helia sighed, rubbing her forehead.
"Listen… about back there…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "You scared me."
Nero. "I didn't mean to—"
"No." She shook her head. "Not because of what you did. Because you didn't hesitate." Her voice softened. "You risked your life to protect me. You shouldn't have."
Nero blinked. "Why not?"
"Because you're the one they want. You're the reason the Unit is hunting us. If anything happens to you—" She cut herself off, jaw clenching. "…then Prototype Eleven died for nothing. All of this would be for nothing."
Her eyes flicked to the dented bulkhead.
"And because I don't want—"She stopped again. Words tangled somewhere between her mouth and her chest.
Nero waited.
Helia looked away.
"…forget it."
But Nero didn't forget. He couldn't. Something in her voice—an unspoken weight—settled deep in him.
He wanted to ask what she meant.He wanted to understand her.He wanted… he didn't even know what he wanted.
Instead, he said quietly:
"You saved me too."
Helia's head turned sharply. "What?"
"You pulled me out of that corridor before the ceiling collapsed." He managed a small smile. "If you weren't there, I'd be dead right now."
Helia stared at him, caught off guard.
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked away again. Her ears—barely visible under her hair—were slightly red.
"…That was different."
"It wasn't," Nero insisted softly.
A long breath slipped from her lips, and when she finally looked at him again, her eyes were calmer. Softer.
"Don't make this harder than it already is."
Nero frowned. "What's hard?"
"Keeping you alive." Her voice cracked faintly. "Because the more you show… the more the Archive reacts… the more dangerous this becomes. For both of us."
Nero didn't know what to say to that.
Another boom echoed from far behind the wall. The Unit was still searching.
Helia immediately stood. "We need to move before it finds another route. Transit shafts are unstable but safer than staying here."
Nero pushed himself up.
His legs nearly gave out—but Helia caught his arm without hesitation.
As soon as he steadied himself, she let go, trying to act like she didn't just do that.
"Thanks," Nero murmured.
"Don't get used to it," she muttered.
Her tone was sharp.Her expression wasn't.
Together, they walked toward the narrow stairway leading deeper into the Archive. The air grew colder, filled with faint whispers of shifting machinery.
But for the first time, Nero didn't feel like he was walking alone.
The space between them wasn't empty anymore.
And the Archive felt it too.
The lights flickered—once, twice—then steadied, like an exhale.
As if it was watching.
As if it had noticed something new forming between them.
Something dangerous.
Something fragile.
Something the Architect would not allow.
And somewhere in the distance, a faint mechanical voice echoed through the metal veins of the structure:
"PROTOTYPE TWELVE: BOND INSTABILITY DETECTED."
Helia froze.
Nero's blood ran cold.
The Archive was reacting again on its own.