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"Change of plan," Trent decides. "We go now, during shift rotation. Less personnel on the floor."

I check the time—0630, precisely when Elle's intelligence indicated shift change would begin. Perfect.

Trent eases the maintenance door open, scanning the corridor beyond. "Clear."

We slip into the medical wing, immediately assaulted by the distinctive scent of Unity medical facilities: antiseptic, filtered air, the subtle chemical undertones of supression compounds. My enhanced senses catalog these automatically, filing them as potential threats.

The corridor is sterile white, identical to medical wings in every arcology. We navigate by following the schematics on Trent's handheld, moving with practiced stealth. My training engages automatically—checking corners, noting camera positions, identifying potential extraction routes.

"Security checkpoint," Vex warns as we approach an intersection.

We press into a recessed doorway as a Unity security officer passes, oblivious to our presence. Once clear, we continue toward the northeastern quadrant where Isolation Units are located.

"Identification," I whisper, pointing to a sign. "Isolation Units ahead. Restricted access."

The corridor beyond requires security clearance. Trent produces another device from his equipment—a scanner designed to duplicate credentials from previous users.

"Last user was Chief Medical Officer Davis," he says as the device compiles the data. "Level 5 clearance."

"That will work," I confirm.

Credential duplicated, we pass through the security checkpoint into the restricted area. The atmosphere shifts subtly—more cameras, reinforced doors, monitoring stations at regular intervals. This isn't just a medical wing; it's a containment zone.

"Unit 7 should be three doors down on the left," Trent murmurs, checking the schematics.

I retrieve the genetic marker detector Elle gave me, activating it with a subtle press. The device hums softly in my palm as we approach Unit 7.

"Confirmation," I whisper as the detector glows. "Haven child signature detected."

Vex takes position as lookout while Trent and I approach the door. Another security panel requires clearance. Trent applies the duplicated credentials, and the lock disengages with a soft click.

The door slides open to reveal a standard isolation chamber—medical bed, monitoring equipment, featureless white walls. And on the bed, secured with restraints despite their obvious youth, is a child.

A girl, perhaps twelve years old, with pale skin and dark hair in disarray. Her eyes are closed, face tense even in apparent sleep. IV tubes run from her arms to machines similar to those used on me at the research facility.

"Suppression protocol active," Trent notes, examining the equipment. "Heavy dosage for someone her size."

I approach carefully, heart aching at the sight of her restraints. "Hey," I say softly. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyelids flutter but don't open.

"We need to disconnect her carefully," Trent says, already examining the medical equipment. "Sudden withdrawal could shock her system."

I place a gentle hand on the girl's arm, and her eyes snap open immediately. They're startlingly silver—not gray, butactual metallic silver, with the same reflective quality Vex's eyes have.

"It's okay," I reassure her quickly. "We're here to help. To get you out."

Her silver eyes track between Trent and me, confusion evident. When she speaks, her voice is raspy from disuse.

"Who...are you?"

"My name is Zara Thorne," I tell her, working on her restraints. "Like you, I'm a child of Haven."

Recognition flashes across her face. "The...first one."

"Yes. And you are?"

"Lily," she whispers. "Lily Reeves."