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Through the vehicle's viewports, I watch as we leave the lake behind, climbing into terrain that becomes increasingly wild. Vegetation I can't identify grows in twisted patterns, adapted to soil and air conditions Unity would deem uninhabitable. In the distance, the arcology rises like a monument to humanity's fear of change, gleaming, perfect, isolated from the world it rejects.

For the first time, I see Unity from the outside, and it looks smaller than I imagined. A bubble of artificial perfection in a vast, complex world that continues to exist and evolve despite all predictions of devastation.

"What are you thinking?" Trent asks, his voice low enough that only my enhanced hearing catches it over the engine noise.

"Just...processing." I gesture at the viewport. "It's a lot."

"Yes." His eyes hold understanding. "The first time I came outside for training, I couldn't sleep for three days afterward. Too much everything."

"You never told me about that."

"Couldn't. Outside missions are classified level nine."

Of course. Even between partners, Unity maintains its walls of secrecy.

"What was your mission?" I ask, curious about this piece of Trent's history I never knew existed.

"Resource evaluation. Unity sends teams to assess potential extraction sites for materials that can't be synthesized internally." His expression darkens slightly. "They told us the wasteland was uninhabitable except for Splinter abominations. But I saw settlements, actual communities thriving in conditions Unity deemed impossible."

"And you reported this?"

"Of course. Along with my recommendations for improved resource acquisition strategies." His eyes meet mine. "My observations about wasteland habitability were redacted from the official record."

Another lie maintained.

Another truth suppressed.

"Did you ever consider...not going back?" I ask hesitantly. “To Unity?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us could have voiced just days ago.

"Yes," he admits after a long moment. "But I had reasons to return."

The way he looks at me makes it clear what—or who—those reasons included.

Me.

The vehicle crests a rise, and Lyra points ahead. "First glimpse of your temporary sanctuary, assuming they agree to take you in."

In the valley below, lights twinkle in the gathering darkness—not the uniform illumination of Unity, but scattered patterns that follow natural contours of the landscape. A settlement, but nothing like Unity's arcologies. This is organic, adaptive, built with and around the environment rather than sealed away from it.

"Welcome to Haven's Edge," Lyra says. “Named for the original research settlement destroyed during the Early Purges. This community was founded by survivors from that disaster. Scientists, mostly, and their families."

Haven. Now I remember. The research facility from my dreams, the one with the woman who looked like me, the laboratory, the flames.

"You know that name," Lyra observes, catching my reaction.

"I...I've been having dreams. Memories, maybe. A laboratory. A woman. Fire."

Lyra's expression changes to one of intense interest. "What's your full name?"

"Zara Thorne," I answer.

The vehicle slows abruptly as Lyra turns to stare at me with wide eyes. "Thorne? As in Elara Thorne?"

My heart stutters. "I don't know. I was orphaned at four. My records listed my parents as Elias and Mira Thorne."

"How old are you?" Lyra asks urgently.