The tunnel narrowed until Nero and Helia had to move single-file. Metal scraped lightly against their arms as they squeezed through. Every few meters, the faint hum of machinery pulsed through the walls—a reminder that the Archive was still watching both of them.
It listened.
It learned.
It adapted.
Nero could almost feel it breathing.
Helia stopped at the end of the tight passage and pressed her hand against the wall. A vertical line lit up beneath her palm, glowing weakly before sliding aside to reveal another chamber beyond.
"Maintenance sub-grid," she said quietly. "If we're lucky, it's dead."
"Are we ever lucky?" Nero whispered.
Helia didn't smile, but her eyes softened just slightly. "Sometimes."
They stepped inside.
The chamber was wide and circular, filled with towering columns of dormant circuitry. Dust hung in the air, drifting like settling ash. A thin layer of condensation coated the floor, reflecting the flickering lights overhead.
For once, nothing moved.No alarms.No drones.No echoing footsteps.
Just… stillness.
Nero let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Helia lowered her weapon but kept it close. She walked a few steps forward, scanning every corner with a soldier's vigilance. Only when she seemed convinced they weren't about to be ambushed did she sit on a low metal crate near the wall.
"You should rest," she said without looking at him.
Nero blinked. "I'm fine."
"You're shaking."
He glanced at his hands—she was right. The aftereffects of Veyra pulsing through him hadn't faded yet. The glowing veins had dimmed, but the tremor remained, like his body was remembering what it wasn't built for.
Nero sat across from her.
A few seconds passed before Helia spoke again, voice low.
"You shouldn't have stepped forward earlier."
Nero frowned. "When the echo appeared?"
"No. When the Reconstruction Unit cornered us."
Nero opened his mouth… closed it again. His thoughts felt loud inside his skull.
"I just reacted," he said softly. "I didn't think."
"That's exactly why the Archive noticed." Helia's gaze locked onto him, steady and unflinching. "Instinct tells the Architect more about you than anything else. More than memories. More than words. More than training."
Nero swallowed hard. "So… what did it see in me?"
Helia looked away. "Something it considers a flaw."
"A flaw," Nero repeated, a bitter taste rising in his throat. "Because I didn't want you to die?"
Her eyes flicked back to him instantly.And Nero regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.
Helia's expression tightened—emotion, then restraint, then the cold professionalism she used as armor.
"It's not about what you want," she said quietly. "It's about what they don't want you to want."
Nero shifted, leaning slightly forward. "And what's that?"
Helia hesitated.
Her fingers curled into her gloves.
"…Attachment."
Nero felt his chest tighten—not because of fear, but because the truth hit too deeply.
"Is that really so dangerous?" he asked.
Helia inhaled slowly, as if bracing herself. "Yes."
Silence settled between them again, but it wasn't empty. It was thick, carrying weight neither knew how to set down. Things were getting awkward.
Nero finally forced himself to speak.
"That echo… did you believe what it said?"
Helia's jaw clenched. "Which part?"
"That the Archive will rewrite me."
Helia looked away. The flickering lights caught her profile—the cut of her cheekbones, the soft line of her jaw, the subtle tremor she tried to hide.
"That's what happened to them," she said. "The prototypes. All of them."
A cold shiver crawled down Nero's spine. "Prototype Eleven… he wasn't just erased?"
"No." Her voice cracked faintly. "He was rewritten."
Nero's breath stilled.
Rewritten.Not killed.Not removed.Rewritten into something unrecognizable.
Something obedient.Something empty.
What if—Nero forced the thought away.
"What about you?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Helia blinked. "What?"
"What does the Archive want from you?"
Helia stiffened, posture suddenly defensive.
Nero regretted the question, but only for a heartbeat. Helia had been protecting him, guiding him, risking everything—yet he knew almost nothing about her past except what little she chose to share.She never told snything about herself. She was still unknown to him.
Her silence stretched too long.
Just when Nero opened his mouth to apologize, Helia spoke.
"The Archive doesn't want anything from me anymore," she murmured. "Not after what I did."
Nero leaned in subtly. "And what did you do?"
Helia's gaze lifted to meet his—vulnerable, shadowed, and something else Nero couldn't name.
"…I disobeyed a direct command."
Nero's pulse quickened. "What command....?"
"To erase you."
Everything inside Nero stilled.
Helia's expression didn't change, but the meaning hung heavy in the air.
"You—" Nero's voice broke. "You were supposed to—"
"Yes," she whispered. "I was supposed to terminate Prototype Twelve or simply erase you before you ever woke up."
His chest tightened painfully.
He didn't know what he expected—anger? Fear? Betrayal?
But instead… something warm flickered in his ribs.
A tether he hadn't realized was there.
"Why didn't you?" he whispered.
Helia's lips parted, but no words came out. Not at first.
When she finally spoke, her voice was barely audible.
"…I don't know."
But Nero could see she did know.
And she was terrified of it.
Before either could say anything more, the ground vibrated—softly at first, then harder. A low hum grew beneath their feet, spreading through the floor like a warning tremor.
Helia instantly stood, weapon drawn. "Distortion surge."
The lights flickered, brightened, then dimmed again as if a ghost had appeared there.
Nero felt his chest tighten as Veyra pulsed weakly in response to surge in the room.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
"That this section is waking up." Helia grabbed his arm. "We need to move before something else does."
They stepped into the next corridor as the chamber behind them flickered violently—light bending, walls shifting microscopically.
Another surge.
Another warning.
The Archive was stirring things. Watching and following them.
And Nero realized something chilling:
It wasn't the Unit they were running from.
It was the system itself.