Page 20

Our heads break the surface simultaneously. I gasp loudly, sucking in my first breath of outside air.

It's shocking, raw and rich and overwhelming.

Unity's air is sterile, filtered of all impurities.

This air is thick with scents my enhanced senses struggle to categorize—soil and vegetation and chemical traces from the damaged atmosphere, all mixed together in a complex bouquet that makes me dizzy as hell, though that could still be from my lack of oxygen.

"This way," Trent says, already swimming toward the shore of what appears to be a small lake. The filtration outpost stands nearby, a utilitarian structure with no Unity markings or symbols.

As we swim, I look up and freeze mid-stroke.

The sky.

It’s the fucking sky .

I've seen images of the outside world, of course. Training materials, surveillance footage, historical archives. But nothing prepared me for the reality of an actual sky stretching endlessly above me, uncontained by arcology walls and ceilings, but instead craggy mountains that rise around us.

It's evening, the sun setting in a blaze of colors I never knew existed.

The atmospheric damage creates strange light patterns—iridescent streaks where pollutants catch the dying sunlight, patches of darkness where particulate matter blocks it completely.

It's broken and beautiful and absolutely terrifying in its vastness.

"Zara," Trent calls from ahead. "We need to keep moving."

I tear my eyes away from the sky and follow him to shore, my body shivering as the air hits my wet clothes. The ground feels strange beneath my feet, uneven, yielding, alive in a way Unity's perfectly engineered surfaces never were.

We approach the filtration outpost cautiously, Sentinel training taking over as we assess the structure for threats. The door opens before we reach it, and I instinctively drop into a defensive stance.

A woman emerges and I recognize her immediately. Lyra, the sympathizer who's been helping care for Eden. Her eyes widen in shock as she takes in our soaked maintenance uniforms.

"You?" Her voice carries equal parts surprise and suspicion. "The maintenance workers from Kaplan's section? What are you doing here?"

"It's complicated," Trent responds, maintaining a cautious distance. "We used the extraction system to escape Unity forces."

Lyra's eyes narrow. "The extraction system is for authorized sympathizer operations only. How did you even know about it?"

"I've been mapping emergency exit routes for months," Trent explains. "Unity security protocols are thorough, but they have blind spots if you know where to look. "

Her gaze shifts between us, calculating. "You're not maintenance workers, are you?"

"No," I admit, seeing no point in further deception. "We're Sentinels. Or we were."

Lyra immediately steps back, her hand moving to something at her waist, a weapon, most likely. "Sentinels? You've been infiltrating the network all this time?"

"Not exactly," I say quickly. "We were undercover to investigate the sympathizer network, yes. But things changed."

"Changed how?" Her tone makes it clear she's not inclined to trust us.

I glance at Trent, who gives a slight nod. Taking a deep breath, I say, "I started experiencing symptoms. Changes. Unity was going to take me for processing when they discovered I wasn't, well, standard anymore."

Something in my words catches her attention. Her eyes focus on me with new intensity. "What kind of changes?"

"Enhanced senses beyond Sentinel parameters. Visual anomalies. Physical adaptations." I hesitate, then add, "The child, Eden—she said I was like her inside. That I had modifications that were 'waking up.'"

Recognition flashes across Lyra's face. "You're the one Eden mentioned. The sentinel with sleeping patterns."

"You know about this?" I ask, surprised. "About what's happening to me?"

"We've seen it before," she says, her stance relaxing slightly. "Not often, but enough to recognize the signs. People whose genetics suddenly activate in ways Unity can't explain or control." She studies me more carefully. "Your symptoms?"

"Progressing, slowly but surely. Trent gave me a suppression injection before we escaped, but it's wearing off."

She nods. "Expected. Once adaptive changes begin manifesting physically, suppression becomes increasingly ineffective."

Trent steps forward. "We need shelter and information. Unity will be searching for us, and Zara's condition is becoming more unpredictable."

Lyra seems to make a decision. "Eden is already on her way to safety.

I stayed behind to oversee one final extraction tonight.

" She glances back at the outpost. "I have a transport vehicle.

I can take you to a safe location, at least temporarily.

The network will need to decide what to do with you long-term. "

"Where?" I ask.

"A settlement called Haven's Edge," she answers, watching for our reaction. "It's where we were taking Eden."

Haven. The name triggers something in me, like I’d heard it before. I glance at Trent, whose expression betrays nothing to anyone who doesn't know him as well as I do. But I see the subtle tension around his eyes—this means something to him, too.

"Thank you," I say to Lyra. "We don't have many options right now."

She motions us toward the outpost. "There are dry clothes inside. Wasteland gear. Your maintenance uniforms are too distinctive."

Inside the outpost, we find the promised clothing—rough, practical garments with multiple layers and reinforced sections, nothing like Unity's sleek, standardized uniforms.

Lyra gives us privacy to change, though I catch her speaking quietly into a communication device in the next room: "Unexpected situation...two former Sentinels...one showing adaptation signs...require guidance...yes, I understand the risks..."

Once dried and changed, we follow Lyra to a covered vehicle parked behind the outpost. It's nothing like Unity's smooth, silent transports, this is a rugged machine with massive wheels and reinforced exterior designed to navigate the harsh wasteland terrain .

"Strap in," Lyra warns as we climb inside. "Wasteland terrain isn't like your smooth arcology corridors."

She's not exaggerating. The moment we leave the outpost perimeter, the vehicle bounces and jolts over uneven ground. I grab a handhold, my enhanced reflexes the only thing keeping me from being thrown against the wall.

"First time's always rough," Lyra comments, noticing my discomfort. "You'll get used to it."

Will I? Will I get used to any of this? The vastness, the unpredictability, the raw aliveness of the outside world?

In a way, I hope I never do.

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.

"Twenty-six."

Lyra's expression transforms into something like awe. "It could be…hmmm…the timing matches." She accelerates again, the vehicle lurching forward with new purpose. "We need to get you to the Elders immediately. If you're truly connected to Elara Thorne..."

"Who is Elara Thorne?" I ask, though some part of me already knows—or fears—the answer.

"One of the founders of Haven," Lyra explains, her voice tight with excitement. "A pioneer in adaptive genetics. She had a daughter who was evacuated before the Purge, one of the Haven children sent into hiding."

I glance at Trent, expecting to see surprise matching my own. Instead, I find him watching me with an expression I can't quite decipher, something between confirmation and relief.

"You knew," I realize. "Didn’t you?”

"I found references to Elara Thorne in the restricted archives," he admits, clearing his throat. "The name similarity couldn't be coincidence, but I had no proof until your memories started surfacing."

I give my head a shake, feeling bamboozled. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would you have believed me? That you might be the daughter of a Splinter scientist, placed in Unity as some kind of long-term genetic experiment?"

He's right, of course. Even a week ago, I would have rejected the idea completely. It took experiencing the changes myself to open my mind to possibilities beyond Unity's carefully constructed reality.

"We're approaching the settlement perimeter," Lyra announces, interrupting my whirling thoughts. "Prepare for identity verification."

The vehicle slows as we near a boundary marked by unusual structures, not walls like Unity's, but a series of towers with equipment I don't recognize. Monitoring systems, perhaps, or defense mechanisms.

"What should we expect?" Trent asks, his Sentinel training asserting itself in the assessment of new territory.

"Standard protocols for new arrivals," Lyra explains. "Genetic screening, decontamination, medical evaluation. Nothing invasive," she adds, clearly noting our tension. "Haven's Edge doesn't believe in Unity's methods."

The vehicle passes between the boundary towers, entering the outskirts of the settlement. Up close, I can see that the buildings are a mixture of salvaged arcology materials and adapted natural resources, structures that work with the environment rather than against it.

People move about despite the late hour, and many show visible modifications—some subtle, others dramatic. No one hides their differences here. No one pretends to be something they're not.

We stop outside a larger building with soft light glowing from its windows.

As we exit the vehicle, the night air hits my enhanced senses with a barrage of new information—scents and sounds I have no reference point for, temperatures that shift with air currents rather than environmental controls. It’s intoxifying.

"The Elders will want to see you immediately," Lyra says, leading us toward the building. "Especially if there's a chance you're connected to Elara Thorne."

I hesitate at the threshold, suddenly overwhelmed by everything happening. In less than a day, I've gone from loyal Sentinel to fugitive, from Unity citizen to wasteland refugee, from someone questioning her enhancements to potentially being the daughter of a genetic pioneer.

Trent steps close, his hand finding mine in the darkness. "Still your partner," he says quietly. "Whatever comes next."

His touch grounds me, a familiar anchor in this sea of newness. I squeeze his hand, grateful beyond words for his presence.

We step forward into Haven's Edge, into a world where adaptation is celebrated rather than feared, where difference is strength rather than contamination, where the future remains unwritten rather than carefully controlled.

Into a world where I might finally discover who—and what—I truly am.