The first day after my decision felt like walking on glass. Every sound in the corridor made me jump. Every glance from a Warden felt like an accusation. I moved through the routine with mechanical precision, my mind screaming with questions while my body performed the motions.

  Training. Absorption. Evaluation. Repeat.

  Tavin had been moved to the Medical Wing full-time. I saw him only at meals, sitting apart at a small table with other “observation” cases—Hollows whose discs glowed with persistent, sickly light. He’d lift a spoon with trembling hands, miss his mouth half the time. When our eyes met, he’d try to smile. It never reached his eyes.

  On the second day, during a sensing drill, I made a mistake.

  We were in the sun-drenched auditorium, kneeling in a circle as Warden Thale released a trickle of Grade 1 Taint through the floor. The violet light swirled up, beautiful and mournful. Usually, I could sense it from twenty feet away—a song only I could hear.

  Today, I heard nothing.

  My mind was elsewhere—in the Archive with Garrett, in the forge with Father’s missing tools, in the deep levels where Aldric might still be breathing.

  “2147,” Thale’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Your focus.”

  I opened my eyes. The Taint had pooled directly in front of me, waiting. The others had already sensed it, drawn it toward themselves. I was last.

  “Apologies, sir.” I reached for the Taint, and it came eagerly—too eagerly. It flooded into me with that familiar warmth, but there was an edge to it today. A hunger.

  Thale watched me, his expression unreadable. He made a longer note than usual in his ledger.

  After the session, he pulled me aside.

  “Your saturation levels are climbing,” he said quietly. “Twenty-six percent. That’s high for your stage of training.”

  “I’m containing it, sir.”

  “For now.” He studied my face. “But your focus is fractured. I see it in your eyes. You’re looking for something. Or someone.”

  I kept my expression blank. “Just tired, sir.”

  “Tired is dangerous here, 2147. Tired minds make mistakes. And mistakes make Unbound.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. It should have felt fatherly. It felt like a restraint. “Get some rest. And stay away from distractions.”

  That night, I waited for Garrett’s signal.

  He’d promised three days. Two had passed. The Archive door on Floor Eight remained sealed, the seam in the ivory wall invisible unless you knew where to look.

  I found him in the Common Room, staring at the inner wall as if he could see through it to the core beyond.

  “Anything?” I asked, sitting beside him.

  He didn’t look at me. “I asked. Quietly. Made contacts I shouldn’t have made.” He exhaled slowly. “The deep levels aren’t just restricted. They’re forbidden. No one I know has ever been down there and come back to talk about it. The routes are guarded by Wardens who’ve been specially conditioned. Loyal beyond questioning.”

  “So there’s no way?”

  “There’s always a way,” he said softly. “But the cost…” He finally turned to me. “If you try and fail, they won’t just decommission you. They’ll make an example. And anyone who helped you…” He let the implication hang.

  “You’ve done enough,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “I haven’t done anything,” he said bitterly. “Seven years in this place, and I still can’t help a kid find his father.”

  “You tried. That’s more than most.”

  He stood, his movements stiff. “Be careful, 2147. Desperation makes people do stupid things. And in here, stupid gets you crossed out.”

  He walked away, leaving me alone with my failure.

  Plan A was dead. Garrett couldn’t help me. The official routes were sealed.

  On the third day, the letter came.

  Not from Uncle Finn. From the correspondence Warden, a folded square of parchment handed to me without comment during free time.

  I opened it in my cell.

  Kieran—

  No word from your father. The Wardens came again yesterday. More questions. They took his remaining journals, the ones he kept hidden. Lira won’t stop crying. She knows something’s wrong.

  I’m being watched. I can feel it. Men in plain clothes loitering near the forge. Following me to market.

  If you can, send word. Any word. Even just that you’re safe.

  —Finn

  P.S. Burn this after reading.

  I held the letter over my candle, watched the edges blacken and curl, the words disappearing into smoke and ash.

  No word from your father.

  The Wardens came again.

  I’m being watched.

  Three days. Three days of waiting, of hoping Garrett would find a way. Three days of watching Tavin deteriorate, of feeling the Taint in my chest grow heavier, warmer, more present.

  Three days, and I was no closer to finding Father than when I’d started.

  That night, as Third Bell chimed and the Tower settled into its artificial night, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling.

  I was out of options.

  Out of time.

  And then, a soft knock at my door.

  Not Tavin’s tentative tap. Not the sharp rap of a Warden.

  Three measured knocks. Deliberate.

  I opened the door.

  Caius stood there, back straight, chin lifted in that aristocratic way he’d never quite lost. But something was different. The disdain was gone from his eyes. Replaced by something sharper. More calculating.

  “We need to talk,” he said, his voice low. “Privately.”

  “About what?”

  “About getting out of this place. About your father.” He glanced down the corridor. “Let me in, or we talk where anyone could hear.”

  I stepped aside.

  He entered, closing the door softly behind him. My cell felt smaller with him in it. He didn’t sit, just stood facing me, hands clasped behind his back like he was at a military briefing.

  “I know you’ve been looking for a way down,” he said without preamble.

  I kept my expression blank. “Down where?”

  “Don’t.” His mouth tightened. “We don’t have time for games. I know Garrett’s been helping you. I know you accessed the Archive. I know about the knife, about your grandfather, about the letter from your uncle.”

  A chill crept down my spine. “How?”

  “Because I’ve been watching you.” He took a step closer. “Since the beginning. Since testing day, when you touched that vessel and didn’t scream like the rest of us.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my family serves the Scions of the Last Dawn.” He said it calmly, as if announcing the weather. “And I was placed in this intake deliberately.”

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The words hung in the small space between us. A spy. A Scion plant. Here, in my cell.

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I?” He reached into his tunic, pulled out a small, folded paper. “Read this.”

  I took it. Unfolded it.

  It was a schematic—hand-drawn, but precise. A cross-section of the Tower, showing levels I’d never seen on any map. Above-ground levels I recognized: Dormitories, Training, Medical. Then below-ground, labeled in neat script: Storage. Archives. Generatorium.

  And deeper still, marked with red ink: *Detention Levels 1-9.*

  On Level 7, two notations:

  A. (Hollow, Detained - Long-term)

  G. (Civilian, Interrogation - Recent)

  My hands trembled. The paper felt heavy as stone.

  “This could be fake,” I whispered.

  “It could be,” Caius agreed. “But it’s not.” He pointed to a detail near the bottom—a symbol I recognized from Father’s forge marks. Aldric’s personal sigil, etched tiny in the corner. “Your grandfather drew this. Or at least, the original. This is a copy. The Scions have had it for years.”

  “How?”

  “Aldric wasn’t working alone. Before he was detained, he made contacts. People who believed what he believed. That the Taint wasn’t corruption—it was memory. That the Wardens weren’t containing it—they were farming it.” Caius’s eyes bored into mine. “He passed this to them. Along with other things. Knowledge. Techniques. The design for that knife at your calf.”

  I instinctively touched my boot, where the knife was hidden. “You know about that too.”

  “I know everything, Kieran. That’s my job.” He took the schematic back, folded it carefully. “Your father was taken to Deep Level Seven two weeks ago. The same day you had your… communion with the vent in the Rot. Korr didn’t like what you saw. Didn’t like that you might have inherited more than just Aldric’s eyes.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “As of three days ago, yes. Both of them. Aldric in long-term detention. Gareth in interrogation.” Caius’s expression softened, just slightly. “They want what he knows. The same things Aldric knew. How to work the iridescent metal. How to make tools that don’t just absorb Taint, but… communicate with it.”

  “And you’re telling me this why?”

  “Because the Scions want you.”

  The words landed like a physical blow.

  “They’ve been watching you,” Caius continued. “Your absorption rate. Your ease with the Taint. The way it… responds to you. You’re not just a Hollow, Kieran. You’re something else. Something the Wardens fear and the Scions need.”

  “Need for what?”

  “To understand. To fight. To change the game.” He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “The Wardens have been lying for centuries. The Taint isn’t some mindless corruption seeping up from hell. It’s conscious. It’s memory. And they’re not containing it—they’re cultivating it. Feeding it villages like Morvian to keep it strong, then harvesting it through us. We’re not purifiers. We’re farmhands.”

  I thought of the vision. The Wardens planting markers. The ground opening. Aldric’s mouth forming the words: They’re feeding it.

  “Why tell me now?” I asked, my voice rough.

  “Because you’re out of options. Garrett can’t help you. The official routes are sealed. And your father doesn’t have much time left.” Caius’s gaze was intense. “Interrogation on Deep Level Seven isn’t gentle. They break people there. Extract what they need, then discard what’s left.”

  My stomach twisted. “How do I know you’re not lying? That this isn’t a trap?”

  “You don’t.” He pushed off the wall. “But ask yourself: what do I gain by trapping you? I’m already inside the Tower. If I wanted to betray you to Korr, I’d have done it when you used the knife on Tavin. Or when you accessed the Archive. Or any of the dozen times you’ve broken Rule Two.”

  He had a point.

  “What’s the offer?” I asked.

  “Escape. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?” I stared at him. “How?”

  “There’s a passage,” Caius said. “Old maintenance conduit. Runs from the sub-basement generatorium out beyond the outer wall. The Wardens think it’s collapsed. It’s not. My family paid for that information years ago. Paid a fortune.”

  “And you can get us there?”

  “During the Third Bell shift change. For twenty minutes, the security on that level drops to one guard. A guard who… appreciates fine whiskey. Which I happen to have.” He reached into his tunic again, pulled out a small silver flask. “Aged twenty years. From my family’s private stock. More valuable than gold to the right person.”

  “You’ve done this before.”

  “No. But I’ve planned it. For months.” His expression turned grim. “I was supposed to extract another asset. A Hollow who’d been feeding us information for years. He frayed last month. Decommissioned.”

  “So now you want me instead.”

  “I want to get out,” he said fiercely. “My family paid to have me assigned to logistics. Paperwork. Administration. Safe duty. But the Tower doesn’t care about family connections. It takes what it wants. And now I’m here, absorbing poison until it kills me or drives me mad.” He took a breath, composing himself. “You’re my ticket out. The Scions want you badly enough to extract both of us.”

  “And once we’re out?”

  “Safe house. Protection. Then… a choice.” He met my eyes. “Help us. Learn what Aldric knows. Use your gift to understand the Taint. Or don’t. Take your father and disappear. The Scions won’t stop you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they’re not the Wardens.” He said it with conviction. “They believe in choice. In freedom. In ending the Tower’s tyranny, not replacing it with their own.”

  I thought about it. The schematic. The flask. The cold precision in Caius’s eyes. It could all be an elaborate trap. Korr testing my loyalty. Seeing if I’d break.

  But if it was real…

  If Father was really on Deep Level Seven…

  If there was a way out…

  “What about the others?” I asked. “Tavin? Seren? Gawain?”

  “Can’t take them,” Caius said, not unkindly. “Tavin’s too sick. He’d slow us down. Seren… she’s an unknown. And Gawain’s already gone. Mind’s somewhere else.” He shook his head. “It’s just us, Kieran. You and me. That’s the deal.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “Then I go alone. Tonight. And you’ll never know if your father was really down there. If he was alive. If you could have saved him.”

  He was good. Playing every angle. My desperation. My guilt. My need to know.

  “What’s in it for you?” I asked. “Really?”

  “My freedom,” he said simply. “And my family’s favor. Delivering Aldric’s grandson to the Scions? That’s worth a duchy back home.” A ghost of his old smirk returned. “We’re all serving someone, Kieran. At least with the Scions, the service comes with rewards. Not just a cell and a slow death.”

  Silence stretched between us. The hum of the Tower seemed louder, more insistent.

  “I need to think,” I said.

  “You have until Third Bell,” Caius said, moving to the door. “Meet me at the Archive door on Floor Eight. Garrett showed you where it is. Be there, or I leave without you.”

  He opened the door, then paused.

  “One more thing.” He didn’t look back. “If this is a trap—if you’re planning to report me to Korr—know this: I have contingencies. Letters that will be delivered if I disappear. Information about your father’s location that will be made public. The Wardens don’t like attention. And a missing blacksmith with a popular forge? That draws questions.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

  “Don’t betray me, Kieran. It won’t end well for either of us.”

  He left, closing the door softly behind him.

  I sat on my bed, the schematic Caius had left me spread on my knees.

  Deep Level Seven.

  Father and Aldric.

  Alive.

  If it was real.

  If Caius was telling the truth.

  If this wasn’t the most elaborate trap Korr had ever devised.

  I thought about my options:

  Option One: Report Caius to Korr. Hand over the schematic, the flask, everything. Gain favor. Maybe even get answers about Father. But at what cost? Caius’s “contingencies” sounded real. And if I betrayed him, I’d never know if Father was really down there.

  Option Two: Go with him. Escape. Take the chance. If it was real, I’d find Father. If it was a trap… well, at least I’d know I tried.

  Option Three: Go, but play my own game. Use the Scions to escape, learn what they know, then decide who to trust. Keep my options open. Betray everyone if I had to.

  The smart choice was obvious.

  The right choice was harder.

  I pulled out the locket, opened it. The small compartment held Lira’s letter, folded tight. And now, the schematic. Aldric’s sigil in the corner, a family mark I’d seen a thousand times on Father’s work.

  Remember.

  Aldric to Gareth.

  Gareth to me.

  A chain of knowledge. And now, maybe, a chain of prisoners.

  From the cell next to mine, Tavin’s voice, thin and wavering:

  “Kieran?”

  “Yeah.”

  A long pause. Then: “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  I froze. “What?”

  “I can feel it. The tension. Like before a storm.” His voice was clearer than it had been in days. “You found a way.”

  I didn’t deny it. “Maybe.”

  “Take me with you.”

  I closed my eyes. “I can’t, Tavin.”

  “Because I’m broken.”

  “Because you’re sick. And this is dangerous. And if it goes wrong…”

  “If it goes wrong, I’d rather die free than fade away in here.” He was crying now, I could hear it in his voice. “Please, Kieran. Don’t leave me here.”

  My throat tightened. “If I make it out… if I find help… I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

  Silence. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear: “Liar.”

  He was right. If I escaped tonight, I was never coming back. Not to this cell. Not to this Tower. Not if I could help it.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  No response. Just the sound of his breathing, ragged and wet.

  I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The Taint in my chest pulsed, warm and steady. It felt… expectant. As if it knew what I was planning. As if it approved.

  Finally, the whispers seemed to sigh. Finally, you choose movement over waiting.

  Was that my thought? Or theirs?

  Did it matter?

  Third Bell would chime soon. The shift change. The twenty-minute window.

  I packed quietly. The knife at my calf. The locket around my neck. A spare tunic. A waterskin. Not much. Traveling light.

  I wrote a note. Not to Lira—too dangerous. Not to Korr—no need to make it easy for him.

  Just a few words on a scrap of parchment:

  Gone to find the truth.

  Remember me.

  I left it on my pillow. Let them wonder. Let them search.

  The Third Bell chimed.

  Deep, resonant, vibrating through the stone.

  Showtime.

  I opened my door, stepped into the corridor. It was empty. Most Hollows were asleep, or trying to be. The Wardens would be rotating, distracted.

  I moved silently toward the spiral stairs, my boots making no sound on the ivory floor. Down to Floor Eight. Past the Common Room, dark and empty. To the section of wall where the Archive door was hidden.

  Caius was already there, a shadow against the seamless white. He held up a hand—wait.

  We stood in silence for a count of sixty. Then he pressed his palm against the wall at a specific point. The door clicked, swung inward.

  “Go,” he whispered.

  I stepped through into darkness. He followed, closing the door behind us.

  The stairs descended steeply, lit only by the faint glow of our discs—mine dull grey, his… glowing faintly green.

  I stopped. “Your disc.”

  He looked down, shrugged. “Suppressants are wearing off. Doesn’t matter now.” He pushed past me. “Come on. We have eighteen minutes.”

  We descended into the belly of the Tower, toward the generatorium, toward the passage, toward freedom.

  Toward the truth.

  Or toward a trap.

  Either way, I’d chosen.

  And for the first time since entering the Severance Tower, the weight on my shoulders felt lighter.

  The whispers in my chest hummed in approval.

  Yes, they sighed. This way. Come. We have so much to show you.

  I followed Caius into the dark, the knife warm against my leg, the locket warm against my chest, and the Taint warm in my veins.

  Finally moving.

  Finally choosing.

  Finally alive.