By the time his mother woke up, Hugo was already dressed and ready to leave.
He hadn't really needed to pack. There wasn't much he owned that was truly his.
His mother shuffled out from the hallway, her hair still tied in a messy bun, eyes heavy with sleep but warm as ever.
"You're up early," she said, voice soft, almost teasing.
Hugo smiled faintly. "Couldn't sleep much."
She walked over, reaching up to straighten his collar like she always did before he went anywhere important. Her fingers lingered longer than usual this time. "You sure you've got everything you need?"
"Yeah," he murmured. "Don't really have much to take."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The silence hung between them, filled only by the quiet ticking of the wall clock and the hum of the fridge. Then, as if both afraid to break it, they began talking again — the kind of small, looping conversations people have when neither wants to say goodbye just yet.
They talked about groceries.
About Mrs. Levin down the street who still owed her a jar. About how cold it was getting this time of year. But beneath every word, Hugo could hear the unspoken worry hiding in her tone.
When she finally sat down, her gaze drifted over to him again. "You'll write, right? Or… however it is they let you contact family?"
"Of course," he said quickly, though they both knew communication from within the Keeps wasn't that simple.
He swallowed, forcing a small grin. "You'll be fine. Uncle Barns said everything's already settled — salary's handled, utilities covered. You won't have to worry about anything."
His mother gave a small laugh, though her voice trembled slightly. "You make it sound like I'm retiring."
He chuckled too, though there was a quiet ache in his chest. "Maybe it's time you did. You work too much, Mom."
She waved her hand dismissively. "I enjoy my work. Keeps me busy. Besides…" She met his eyes again, smiling softly. "If I just sat here waiting for you, I'd go crazy."
There it was — that gentle defiance he'd always admired.
Hugo looked at her for a moment, taking in every line on her face, every detail of the small home around them — the faded curtains, the worn-out table, the hum of the old fridge that sometimes rattled at night. He'd grown up surrounded by these things, and now, leaving them behind felt heavier than he expected.
After another half-hour of idle conversation, the moment finally came.
She stood up first, smoothing her apron, trying her best to hide the emotion behind a practical smile. "Alright, go on before I change my mind and make you stay."
He stepped forward and hugged her.
"Take care of yourself, okay?" she whispered. "Eat properly. Sleep when you can. And if anyone gives you trouble—"
"I'll be fine," Hugo said quietly. "Promise."
She nodded against his shoulder, then pulled away, brushing a tear from her cheek quickly before he could notice.
But he did.
When he finally stepped out of the house, the air felt sharper, cooler.
He looked back once — just once — and saw her standing by the door, waving faintly.
Then he turned away and began walking toward the train station.
The ride to the administrative center of the Keep was uneventful but heavy with thought. The metallic clatter of the train wheels was oddly rhythmic, almost meditative. Hugo leaned back against the seat, watching the lights flicker past the glass.
He wasn't scared, not really.
But there was something strange about the idea of leaving behind everything that had defined his life — the streets he knew, the people he'd grown used to, even the small shop that had been his routine for years.
This was different.
This was real.
He was no longer just another name on a list.
He was part of something far larger — and far more dangerous.
When the train pulled into the underground terminal, the heavy air of the sector greeted him like an old, familiar weight.
He spotted Uncle Barns almost immediately — sitting on one of the waiting benches, tablet in hand, glasses perched halfway down his nose. He looked exactly like always: calm, professional, faintly overworked but still smiling as soon as he saw Hugo.
"I hope I didn't keep you waiting," Hugo said as he approached.
"Oh, Hugo! There you are," Barns said, standing with that easy energy that somehow never seemed to fade despite his age. "Not at all. You're right on time. Come — the sooner we head out, the better. I've got a few other stops to make today."
They boarded another train together, heading straight for the Bunker.
Hugo sat silently for most of the ride, occasionally glancing at Barns, who seemed completely absorbed in whatever data he was scrolling through. He wondered how someone could manage so much responsibility and still find time to check in on personal stuff.
When they finally arrived, the familiar air of the Bunker greeted him.
It carried that faint metallic tang of sterilized environments — the kind that made everything feel both alive and distant.
Barns led him through the corridors with brisk efficiency. "You'll report to Officer Ingrid directly. She's in charge of the current expedition batch. Don't let her demeanor throw you off — she's strict, but she's good at what she does."
"I'll keep that in mind," Hugo replied quietly.
They reached Ingrid's office soon after.
Barns gave Hugo a small pat on the shoulder. "Alright, I'll leave you in capable hands. Make us proud, kid."
Then he was gone — swept away by duty, like always.
Hugo turned toward Ingrid's office.
The woman herself sat behind her desk, typing rapidly. Her posture was perfect, her hair tied neatly back, her uniform immaculate. Every movement was precise, economical.
She hadn't even looked up when he entered.
Hugo stood there silently, unsure if he should speak. The soft clicks of her keyboard filled the room.
He watched her work for a moment — the way her brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the faint reflection of light against her lenses. She gave off the kind of aura that demanded quiet respect.
After nearly a minute, she finally stopped typing, set the tablet aside, and looked up at him. Her gaze was sharp — assessing, not unkind, but far from warm.
Then, without a word, she stood and said, "Follow me."
They walked through a series of reinforced hallways, the sound of their footsteps echoing softly off the metal walls.
Each corridor looked identical to the last — cold, clean, clinical. Hugo had the faint sense that the deeper they went, the less the place felt human.
When they finally entered the elevator at the far end, Ingrid keyed in a code and the doors slid shut behind them.
The descent was long — longer than Hugo expected. The numbers on the panel kept ticking downward.
"How deep does this go?" he asked, unable to hide his curiosity.
Ingrid didn't look at him. "Deep enough."
When the elevator finally stopped, the doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing a wide chamber that looked almost like a dojo — but made of high-tech materials. The walls were lined with energy regulators and impact-absorption tiles.
Ingrid walked across the mat, her boots silent on the padded surface, and then removed her outer jacket, folding it neatly on a bench nearby. Underneath, her uniform fit snugly — more tactical than formal now.
She picked up a small data pad from a side console and began inputting something. "Hugo... Eighteen... Initiate…" she muttered under her breath, fingers moving swiftly.
After she was done, she turned to face him, her face as passive as ever. "I heard about your decision not to enroll in the academy program." Her tone was level, her expression unreadable. "I'm not going to question your reasons. But understand something clearly — I will not allow you to drag down the performance of the batch I'm responsible for."
The words were sharp, precise — but not cruel. Just matter-of-fact.
She stepped closer, meeting his gaze directly. "So from this moment on, you'll follow my instructions exactly. What I say, when I say it, and how I want it done. Are we clear?"
Hugo exhaled slowly, then smiled faintly. It wasn't mocking — just calm, resigned amusement.
It was obvious she didn't like him much. Or maybe she just didn't like the kind of unpredictability he represented — someone added at the last moment, untested, unscheduled.
He didn't blame her, especially considering the kind of person she is.
But he definitely didn't like the idea of the person supervising him having a bad impression on him.
"I get it," he said after a pause. "You don't have a good impression of me — probably think I'm here to make things harder for you. But I'm not."
Her expression didn't change, so he continued, steady and honest. "I have my reasons for doing things the way I choose to do them. It's not about pride, or ego, or trying to look special. Whatever plans you have for the team, I won't interfere with them. The success of this expedition… it aligns with my goals, too."
For a long moment, Ingrid said nothing.
She just studied him — her gaze searching for cracks in his resolve.
Then, finally, she gave a single curt nod. "Very well."
She straightened her posture again, tone returning to its clipped professionalism. "Let's begin."