Cain clenched his jaw.
"All this," he said, gesturing to the dead displays, the sealed chamber, the city groaning beneath them, "because you're afraid of what happens if it fails."
The man didn't deny it. "If the core collapses, the city doesn't just fall. It tears. Spatially. Energetically. Everything it's been holding back floods outward."
Cain pictured it instantly—zones folding into each other, pressure release cascading, entire districts erased not by destruction but by overlap.
"How long?" Cain asked.
The man hesitated again. Longer this time.
"Months," he said. "Maybe less."
Silence settled heavily.
Hunter looked at Cain. "That's not a fight you win by punching it."
"No," Cain agreed.
The hum beneath them wavered, then surged.
The floor lurched hard enough to stagger Hunter. Cain remained upright, muscles locking instinctively as he adjusted his stance.
The man cursed under his breath. "It's reacting to proximity. You shouldn't be here."
