Sleep didn't come easily—if it came at all.
Klaus's small hideout was warmer than the tunnels, but Nero still felt the cold of the Archive clinging to his skin. The dim light buzzed softly, dust drifting through its orange glow like slow-moving snow. Helia sat on the floor opposite Nero, back straight, eyes half-open in watchful rest. She hadn't let her weapon out of reach for even a second.
Klaus, however, lounged against a crate as if this decrepit room were a safehouse in the middle of a sunny meadow. He'd unrolled a patched cloth and was cleaning the EMP casing with practiced swipes of a rag.
"I know that look," Klaus said without glancing up. "You two don't sleep much."
Helia didn't answer.
Nero shifted. "It's hard to sleep when being hunted isn't theoretical."
Klaus chuckled. "Fair. But you have a few hours before anything big sweeps this level again. I've blocked most signals in a ten-meter radius."
Helia lifted an eyebrow. "How?"
Klaus tapped the blinking node inside his coat. "This little thing. It jams everything except short-range frequencies. A bit unstable, but it works."
Nero exchanged a glance with Helia. She was still suspicious—but suspicion wasn't the same as hostility anymore. Klaus had already saved them twice. And in this place, trust was currency.
Klaus finally looked up at Nero, studying him. "I didn't get your name."
"Nero," he answered quietly.
Klaus nodded, then turned to Helia. "And you?"
She hesitated. Her instinct was always against giving information—but she finally replied:
"Helia."
"Good names," Klaus said. "Sound like people who shouldn't be dying in a hole like this."
Nero tried to smile but couldn't. His mind kept drifting back to the memory flicker—the hand holding his, the boy calling his name. It tugged at him like a missing limb.
Klaus saw the shift in his expression. "You alright?"
Nero looked away. "Just… remembering something."
Klaus's brow lifted. "From before the Archive?"
Helia tensed. "How do you—"
"Relax," Klaus interrupted gently. "You're not the first people I've seen down here who look like they walked out of a system wipe."
Helia didn't relax.
Klaus continued anyway. "The Archive wipes people sometimes. Happens before they get recycled. Some folks recover bits. Others don't."
Nero swallowed. "Do you think memories can survive a wipe?"
Klaus shrugged. "If something mattered enough? Maybe."
Nero went quiet.
Helia watched him from across the room. She didn't ask what he remembered—but Nero had seen it in her eyes: she wanted to know, even if she didn't say the words.
Klaus leaned back. "You two got somewhere you're heading?"
"We're trying to get out," Helia said. "Find a level with fewer hostiles. Maybe a way to reach the upper sectors."
Klaus whistled softly. "Ambitious."
"We don't have a choice."
He flashed a tired grin. "Good. I like people who don't settle for dying."
Klaus stretched, joints cracking lightly. "There's another maintenance route about three levels down. Hard to reach, but it connects to a transit platform. If we can get you there, you've got a better chance."
Nero frowned. "Why help us? Really?"
Klaus paused.
For the first time, his voice lost its irony. "Because no one helped my team when we needed it."
Silence settled in. It wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either.
Finally, Helia stood. "We should move soon. This level isn't stable."
Klaus nodded. "Ten minutes. Then we slip through the coolant tunnels."
Those ten minutes passed without words.
Nero sat in the corner, fingers tracing the faint pulse of his Veyra. It felt calmer now—still volatile, but quieter. Helia sat beside him, barely a breath between them, though neither commented on the closeness.
When Klaus rose, they followed him into a narrow, ribbed corridor.
The walls here glowed softly, veins of blue light threading through the metal. Cool air slid across Nero's skin, carrying a faint chemical scent.
"Coolant tunnels," Klaus explained. "Heat sensors don't work well here. Makes us ghosts."
Helia stepped carefully. "And what happens if the coolant pumps activate?"
"Then we drown in subzero liquid and turn into statues." Klaus grinned. "But it's off right now. Probably."
Helia gave him a long stare.
"Relax," Klaus laughed. "I'm joking."
Nero wasn't convinced he was.
They moved deeper. The hum of the Archive faded, replaced by the steady drop… drop… drop of condensation falling from the pipes. Water pooled along the floor, glistening with faint blue reflections.
Suddenly—
A faint chime echoed from ahead. A drone scan.
Helia reacted instantly, dragging Nero behind a coolant tank.
Klaus pressed his back against the opposite wall. "Damn. They're earlier than I thought."
Two drones floated past the intersection ahead. Their red sensors swept the corridor slowly.
Nero forced his breathing to quiet. Helia's hand steadied his shoulder; he could feel her heartbeat against his arm.
The drones paused. Sensors flickered.
Nero held still, muscles taut.
Klaus mouthed something Nero couldn't hear.
And then—
A pipe above the drones burst with a quiet hiss.
Coolant sprayed like a silent mist—icy, shimmering.
The drones' sensors fuzzed. Their lights flickered. Then they drifted past, unable to detect them through the dense thermal fog.
Helia didn't move until their hum completely faded.
Klaus smirked. "See? Ghosts."
"You caused that," Helia said, eyes narrowing at the broken pipe.
Klaus winked. "Maybe."
They continued onward.
After another ten minutes, Klaus stopped at a bend leading into a low, wide space filled with old machinery.
"This is it," he said. "The transfer chamber. We rest here. Then I'll take you to the platform."
Nero stepped forward—and froze.
A faint sensation washed through him. A resonance. A whisper. Something familiar.
He stared at one of the old machines. Its surface was dusty, its circuits dim. But when his hand neared it, a faint teal spark crackled from its panel.
Helia caught the glow and stiffened. "Nero…"
Klaus frowned. "What was that?"
Nero didn't know. He only knew the machine felt familiar—like something from the memory flicker. Like something important.
Before he could touch it again, Helia grabbed his wrist.
"Not now," she whispered. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with protectiveness. "We don't know what that could trigger."
Nero nodded slowly.
Klaus crossed his arms. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"
Nero didn't respond.
But the machine hummed faintly again, as if recognizing him.
And neither Helia nor Klaus noticed the tiny camera in the corner of the chamber, silently awakening.
Watching.
Recording.
Reporting.