TY.
He didn't even notice the shift in the air.
The cell lights dimmed on cycle, solar sconces cooling to their usual amber glow. Ty lay curled on his cot, still swaddled in the thermal blanket Jessi had insisted on keeping stocked in every recovery unit. His breath was steady, eyes half-lidded as he stared at nothing.
The filtered straw poked from the flap in the sanitation slot again.
He took it.
Drank deeply.
Didn't notice the aftertaste.
Didn't notice how fast the warmth spread through him—how the sting in his muscles dulled, how the ache in his bones faded to fog. His eyelids drooped, too heavy to hold open.
A minute later, he was out cold.
JOSH.
Josh watched the vitals stabilize on the tablet in his lap. Heart rate slowed. Pupils unresponsive. Motor reflexes flatlined.
He turned to Boris.
"You're sure this won't hurt him."
Boris shrugged, already zipping the pack of field meds shut. "Won't kill him. Just won't remember much of tonight. Or how he got where he ends up."
Josh gave a tight nod.
"Let's move."
The air was damp and stale in the service tunnel. It hadn't been opened in weeks—not since the retrofit locked down the main exits. Now the old hatch hissed open to street level, camouflaged by a rusted dumpster and an overgrown construction barricade.
Jules knelt beside Ty's unconscious body, checking his vitals again. His wrists were zip-tied. His coat was packed with protein bars, water pouches, a folding map with false coordinates marked in red.
Enough to get him lost.
Enough to keep him alive—if he tried.
Josh stood guard at the hatch, arms crossed, gaze scanning the shadows.
"Make it fast."
Jules and Boris lifted him together. He sagged between them like a heavy sack of sand. Together they dragged him to the mouth of the alley. A car engine backfired in the distance. Wind scraped along the empty street.
They laid him down gently.
Jules took one last look at his face.
He looked young again.
She stood.
They turned back.
By the time the hatch sealed again, the alley was empty.
And Ty was alone.
--
The echo of their boots on the wet concrete filled the silence. Water dripped in steady rhythm from rusted pipes overhead. No one spoke.
Josh walked in front, eyes forward, jaw set.
Behind him, Boris carried the med kit slung over one shoulder, his fingers twitching like he wanted a cigarette he didn't have. Jules trailed last, one hand on the wall for balance, her mind visibly somewhere else.
It wasn't guilt.
It was calculation.
"We'll need to scrub that entry tunnel," she said finally, voice low. "Seal it again. Reset the sensors."
Josh nodded without turning. "We will."
"No sign of watchers, no drones?" Boris asked. His voice was rough, quiet. "No one followed?"
"I ran sweeps twice," Jules said. "We're clean."
Josh didn't answer.
They reached the lift.
As the doors closed behind them, sealing the damp and the cold and the city's ruins away, Boris leaned his head back against the steel wall.
"We just dumped a kid."
"He was never just a kid," Josh said. His voice was hoarse. "He was a door."
Jules glanced sideways at him.
"And that door's closed now."
The hum of the motor of the service elevator filled the cabin as they ascended.
Boris finally broke the silence again. "Do you think he'll make it?"
"No," Josh said. Then softer: "But I hope I'm wrong."
Jules didn't speak. She just reached over and quietly hit the button to engage lockdown protocols for B4.
Steel gates ground shut in the dark below them.
They rose in silence.
Back toward light. And choices. And whatever came next.