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I nod, mentally mapping the route. Delta-9 runs close to our quarters and connects to the southern access points where the sympathizer transport will depart.

"And if we encounter security?" I ask, the practical Sentinel part of my brain still running contingency scenarios.

Trent's eyes meet mine briefly. "Then we do whatever's necessary to reach the extraction point."

The meaning is clear. After years of loyal service, we're prepared to fight the very system we once defended. The realization should feel more momentous, more traumatic, but instead it feels like the natural conclusion to a journey that began the moment everything about me started to change.

"Ready for this?" I ask quietly.

Trent's expression softens briefly. "I've been ready since the day I recognized what was happening to you. The only question was whether you would be."

Something in his words triggers a realization—Trent has been protecting me, preparing for this eventuality, for much longer than I've been aware of my condition. Not just since my symptoms became obvious, but possibly since the very beginning of our partnership.

Before I can ask what he means, the comm system crackles to life with a facility-wide announcement: "Attention all maintenance personnel. Security protocol Echo-Seven now in effect. Report to designated assembly points for identification verification."

Echo-Seven. The containment protocol for suspected Splinter infiltration.

They're not waiting for tonight.

They're movingnow.

Trent and I exchange a single glance. Our window for escape just closed.

"Environmental systems showing critical pressure in section nine," Trent announces loudly, already shifting to our backup plan. "Emergency override required."

"Acknowledged," I respond with equal volume, playing my part in this improvised escape. "Rerouting chemical balance to compensate."

We move with practiced efficiency, adjusting settings to create the impression of dedicated workers responding to a system emergency while actually preparing to abandon our cover completely.

As facility alarms begin to sound and security teams mobilize for the verification sweep, I feel a strange calm settle over me. After months of uncertainty, of struggling against the changes happening within me, the path forward is suddenly clear.

We're leaving Unity behind, with its rigid control, its fearof adaptation, its elaborate lies about purity and contamination. Whatever awaits us beyond the arcology walls, whatever I'm becoming, at least it will be honest. Real. Free from the hypocrisy of a system that preaches stability while secretly fearing it's already lost control.

Trent's eyes meet mine one last time before we step into the corridor and the chaos beyond. In that brief connection, I see everything we haven't said to each other, the feelings glimpsed during synchronization, the trust built over years of partnership, the future we might find together if we survive what comes next.

"Ready?" he asks quietly.

I nod, leaving Zara Thorne, loyal Sentinel, behind me. "Ready."

Together, we step into the corridor, moving not as Unity's perfect soldiers but as something new, something developing outside their careful control.

Something, perhaps, like what humanity was always meant to become.

CHAPTER 9

Alarms blareoverhead as we sprint through maintenance corridor Delta-9. Red emergency lights pulse along the walls, casting everything in a bloody glow.

"Security checkpoint ahead," Trent warns, slowing at the junction.

I press my ear to the wall, my enhanced hearing cutting through the alarm noise to pick up voices beyond. "Four guards. Armed with neural disruptors."

Trent nods once. No more pretending we're just maintenance workers now. The moment we ignored the Echo-Seven summons, we became official enemies of Unity.

Feels weirdly liberating, actually.

"Alternate route?" I ask.

Trent checks the schematics on his stolen maintenance tablet. "Ventilation access through section twelve. Tight fit."