The deeper they moved into the old city, the quieter everything became.
Not empty.
Not abandoned.
Just… hushed.
As if every sound knew better than to travel too far. As if the walls had learned to keep secrets.
Zoya kept a steady pace, but the tension in her shoulders never eased. She checked for shadows repeatedly—not the obvious kind the sun cast, but the ones that moved when they shouldn't.
Manraj walked close behind her, every pulse of 27 nudging at his ribs like a tap from the other side.
Not painful.
Not aggressive.
Just present.
Like a reminder:
I haven't forgotten you.
He swallowed hard.
"Zoya," he whispered, "where exactly are we going?"
She didn't turn.
"To the oldest place in the city," she said. "Older than the tunnels. Older than the wells. Older than the discarded sites."
"Older than the Root?"
"No."
She paused at the entrance to a sloping street that dipped beneath a cluster of ruined archways.
"But it's where the Root was forced to split."
Manraj felt the number in his chest jolt—like a heartbeat skipping a beat.
"Split?" he echoed.
Zoya nodded grimly.
"The Root only cuts pieces of itself when it's trying to survive. Whatever happened here… hurt it enough to carve an entire section off."
Manraj felt a chill that had nothing to do with the shadows.
"Zoya… if the Root died here—"
She corrected him quietly.
"A part of it died here."
"And we're walking into it."
Her jaw tightened.
"Yeah."
---
THE CUT-SITE
The sloping street ended at a massive sunken courtyard—one the city had built around but never on top of. Ancient stone walls enclosed it, covered in vines and soot and centuries of rain.
At the center stood a circular depression, filled with cracked stone, broken carvings, and a single dried-up fountain.
Manraj immediately felt the difference.
This place wasn't quiet.
It was empty.
Like something had been removed from it violently.
Zoya stepped into the courtyard.
"Welcome," she said softly, "to the Cut-Site."
Manraj swallowed.
"What was cut?"
Zoya turned slowly, looking at the carvings.
"The oldest texts say the Root had a branch here—a guardian-spirit, a memory-keeper. It recorded everything. Saw everything. Held the boundaries in this region."
She touched the dead fountain.
"And then it was torn out."
"By what?"
Zoya shook her head.
"No one knows. The Root severed the branch to keep the damage from spreading."
Manraj felt breathless.
"So the Under-Root—"
"—lives in the wounds," Zoya finished. "And this? This was the first wound."
The ground beneath them shuddered.
Manraj flinched.
"Zoya—did you feel—"
"Yes," she said, stepping closer to him. "The Under-Root can't enter this place. It can't cross where the Root bled."
"Why?"
Zoya raised a brow.
"Would you walk into the graveyard where you were born wrong?"
The tremor stopped.
The world settled.
Even the number quieted.
27 → … → 27
A pause.
A breath.
A gap in the hunt.
Manraj felt his lungs expand for the first time in what felt like hours.
"We're safe?" he asked.
Zoya hesitated.
"For now," she said. "Not because it can't find you. But because it can't step here."
"And we can use that?"
Her eyes lit—not with hope, but with a dangerous idea.
"Yes. We can."
She crouched, pulling a piece of chalk from her pocket.
"Azhar wasn't the only one who left marks behind."
Manraj blinked.
"You're going to draw something?"
"Not draw," she said. "Restore."
She began tracing the broken carvings on the stone—lines that once formed protection sigils but had been shattered by time.
"Zoya, what is this?"
"A Root-breaking ward," she said. "Very rare. Very illegal. Very unstable."
"And you know how to use it?"
"No," she admitted. "But Azhar did. And I watched him work."
Manraj's chest tightened.
"You… watched him draw these?"
"I watched him erase them," Zoya corrected. "He didn't want the guardians finding this place."
Manraj stepped back.
"Zoya… if this place is so dangerous—"
"It's the only place the Under-Root won't touch," she said. "Which means it's the only place we can think."
He hesitated.
"What are we thinking about?"
She stood, dusting chalk off her hands.
"You."
"Me?"
Zoya pointed at his chest.
"At the countdown. At the mark. At whatever the Root left unfinished inside you. We need to figure out what the Under-Root wants before it reaches you."
"And if we can't?"
Zoya didn't blink.
"Then we make sure zero comes on our terms."
Manraj nodded slowly.
"And this ward… what does it do?"
She knelt again and whispered:
"It hides you."
He froze.
"It hides me from the Under-Root?"
"No," she said.
"It hides you from everything. Even the Root."
The air shifted.
That wasn't comforting.
It was terrifying.
"Zoya…"
"Don't worry," she said. "It's temporary. But for the next few minutes…"
She finished the final line.
The courtyard dimmed.
The number in his chest flickered—then dropped into silence.
No pulse.
No burn.
Nothing.
"…you're invisible."
Manraj exhaled shakily.
"I can't feel the Under-Root."
Zoya nodded.
"It can't feel you either."
He looked around the ancient courtyard, then back at her.
"So what now?"
She inhaled deeply.
"Now," she said, "you tell me everything you've been afraid to say."
Manraj blinked.
"About what?"
Her expression softened—just barely.
"About what you think the Root wanted from you."
Manraj's throat tightened.
He looked down at his hands.
His breathing turned shallow.
"I…" he whispered.
Zoya waited.
The silence of the ward pressed around them.
Manraj finally spoke.
"I don't think the Root wanted to remake me."
Zoya blinked slowly.
"What then?"
Manraj lifted his gaze.
And for the first time, Zoya saw genuine fear break through his composure.
"I think it wanted to replace something."
Zoya's voice thinned.
"Replace what?"
Manraj's chest heaved.
"…someone."
The courtyard trembled.
Not from the Under-Root.
From the truth.
Zoya whispered:
"Manraj… who do you think you were supposed to replace?"
He closed his eyes.
And a memory surfaced—foggy, fractured, wrong—
—a voice whispering his name from underwater.
A voice that wasn't his.
A voice that shared his heartbeat.
He whispered:
"…the missing part."
Zoya's breath hitched.
"Of who?"
Manraj opened his eyes.
And the number in his chest did not pulse.
But the truth did.
"…Azhar."
The ward flickered.
Not breaking.
Reacting.
Zoya's whole body went still.
"Manraj…"
He stepped backward.
"I think I was made to fill the gap the Root carved out."
The air turned heavy.
Too heavy.
And for the first time—
Zoya whispered something she'd never said before:
"…Oh god."
The ward shimmered.
The number surged back.
27 → 26
The Under-Root hadn't found them.
But the truth had.
And it was just as dangerous.