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I lacked the strength to resist, even if resistance would have been tactically sound.

As they dragged me to my feet, I caught the human female’s expression. Concern? Calculation? Both, perhaps.

She was assessing my condition, measuring the damage. Planning something. What, I couldn’t guess, nor did I have the luxury of considering it further as the guards forced me through the door.

The last thing I saw before they took me away was her face, those grey eyes watching, analyzing. Not hostile, not exactly, but intensely focused.

Dangerous in a way Hammond’s casual cruelty was not. Hammond I understood from our translated exchanges—he was simply greedy, grasping for power he could never comprehend.

But the marked female? She was something else entirely. Something unpredictable. And as they dragged me down the corridor toward another session of agony, I found myself uncertain which represented the greater threat—Hammond’s crude experiments or the marked human who had looked at me with something almost like compassion.

Both, in their own ways, could unlock doors best left closed. Both could awaken powers that had nearly destroyed Arenix once before.

As a Shadow Canyon guardian, my duty was clear. Protect the ancient secrets. Prevent the resonance between silver and gold. Ensure the Nexus remained dormant.

Even as a prisoner, even as Hammond’s unwilling experiment, that duty remained.

I would endure whatever torment awaited me in the laboratory. I would safeguard the knowledge I carried. And I would resist any connection with the marked human, no matter how seemingly innocent.

The Elders had taught us that sometimes, the most dangerous threats came wearing the face of compassion.

ZARA

Hours passed in silence after they took the Nyxari away. I’d inspected every inch of our cell—the electronic lock mechanism, the conduit junction running along the ceiling, the composition of the salvaged plating, the ancient stone inscriptions.

Nothing immediately useful without tools. The junction box was promising, but… no tools, and I still couldn’t figure out how to reach it.

My markings continued to respond to something in the ruins. The sensation was unlike anything I’d experienced before—not quite pain, not quite pressure, but a persistent awareness, as if they were trying to connect to something just out of reach.

I brushed my fingers along the stone wall where ancient Nyxari glyphs had been carved into the surface. The symbols seemed older than those I’d seen at the Eastern Settlement, the patterns more complex, more structured somehow.

My markings tingled as I traced one particular sequence—a repeating spiral motif surrounding what looked like a stylized crystal or gem.

The sensation reminded me of the first time I’d interfaced with a damaged console during our escape from Hammond’sprevious lab. That same electric awareness, that feeling of connection forming.

I’d been able to access systems the others couldn’t, to interpret data streams that even Mirelle found challenging. “System Whisperer,” she’d called it, half-joking.

But there was nothing amusing about the way my markings had burned afterwards, or the headaches that had plagued me for days.

A faint tremor ran through the floor, followed by a momentary flicker in the dim lighting. Whatever Hammond was doing to the Nyxari, it was affecting the power systems.

I wondered how much energy he was drawing, and from what source. The ruins had their own power grid, ancient technology integrated with the structure itself. If Hammond was interfering with that...

I turned my attention to more practical matters. The makeshift bed was bolted to the wall with salvaged brackets.

If I could work one loose, the metal might serve as a tool. I moved my fingers along the underside, feeling for weaknesses in the mounting.

There—a bolt not fully tightened, probably due to haste during construction. I worked at it carefully, using the edge of my boot heel for leverage.

Each small movement produced a minute shift. Progress, but painfully slow.

My thoughts turned to the Nyxari warrior. His condition had been bad when they took him, and he’d be worse when they brought him back. Hammond’s experiments were never gentle.

I’d seen what he’d done to Claire before we rescued her—the way he’d tried to amplify her markings, to force an interface with ancient technology. The memory still made my stomach clench with anger.

What would I be facing tomorrow when it was my turn? Similar experiments, most likely. Hammond’s obsession with the markings hadn’t diminished.

If anything, it had grown more focused, more fanatical. The crash had damaged his mind, or perhaps merely revealed what had always been there, beneath the surface of the competent security chief.