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"She mentioned three workers taken for processing. All from Kaplan's shifts."

Trent's expression doesn't change, but I notice the slight tension in his jaw. "Unfortunate. Maintenance division is chronically understaffed already."

The transport tube opens into a crowded junction where dozens of maintenance corridors intersect. Perfect for what I need to tell him.

"My hearing activated during the interrogation," I murmur, leaning close as if checking his work tablet. "They're planning an extraction tonight. Me specifically. Something about symptoms and Medical."

Trent's eyes meet mine for a fraction of a second, intense and focused. "Expected timetable?"

"Unknown. But they mentioned Voss directly authorized it."

He processes this with his usual efficiency, already adapting our plans. "We need to move up our timeline. The sympathizer transport won't wait if security protocols escalate."

We turn into a less traveled maintenance shaft, used primarily for environmental system access. The narrow corridor forces us to walk closer together, shoulders occasionally brushing in a way that sends electricity through my nerve endings despite the dire circumstances.

"They asked about you too," I tell him. "Whether I'd noticed any unusual changes in your behavior."

"Standard counterintelligence," Trent says dismissively, but I catch the slight hesitation before he responds.

"Is there something I should know?" I ask, stopping and turning to face him directly.

Trent glances around, confirming we're temporarily free from surveillance, then meets my eyes with unusual intensity.

"I've been accessing restricted archives," he admits. "Information about the early arcology development period. Specifically, research programs involving adaptive genetics."

"The same research Eden mentioned—the kind that might explain what's happening to me."

He nods. "The historical records have been heavily redacted, but I've found references to a research outpost called Haven that was destroyed during the early purification campaigns."

"Haven," I repeat, the word triggering something—a half-formed memory, maybe? "Was there anything about children? Or modifications designed to activate later?"

"Nothing specific, but there were references to 'long-term viability studies' and 'delayed expression sequences.'" Trent's voice drops lower. "Zara, I think Haven might have been developing exactly the kind of modifications you're experiencing now."

The implications are staggering. If true, it means my condition isn't random or accidental—it's the deliberate result of research Unity tried to erase from history.

"Why would Unity hide this?" I ask, though I already suspect the answer.

"Because it contradicts their fundamental doctrine," Trent says, confirming my thoughts. "Haven's research suggested genetic modification wasn't a deviation from humanity but its natural evolution, that adapting to changing conditions is what humans have always done."

"And Unity built its entire system on the opposite premise, that true humanity can only be preserved by preventing adaptation and change." I laugh without humor. "Their perfect, stable society depends on convincing everyone that change equals contamination."

"Precisely," Trent agrees. "Which is why they can justifytheir own enhancements while condemning genetic modifications. One preserves their definition of humanity; the other challenges it."

"Even though the end result is the same—humans adapted to survive."

Trent's expression softens slightly. "The difference is control. Unity's enhancements keep power centralized and they can be regulated, monitored, even revoked. Genetic adaptations like yours? Those can't be taken away or controlled once they're activated."

It makes perfect sense in a twisted way. Unity's obsession with purity was never about actual purity.

It was about maintaining control, about ensuring that adaptation happened only in ways the leadership could monitor and direct.

Just like dictators throughout history, they dressed up their power grab in the language of protection and preservation. Keep people afraid of outside threats, convince them that safety requires sacrifice, then gradually strip away freedoms until conformity becomes the highest virtue.

A maintenance worker rounds the corner suddenly, forcing us to step apart and resume our cover identities. The moment of connection breaks, but the understanding remains—a shared recognition of the lies at Unity's foundation.

"Environmental check required in Sector 16," Trent says loudly for the benefit of our unexpected company. "Fluctuations reported in the eastern quadrant."

"I'll handle the secondary systems," I respond with equal professionalism, falling back into our maintenance worker personas with practiced ease.