The clock above the containment wing ticked past 02:37 A.M.
Most of the base was asleep.
Even the air felt tired — the hum of power lines, the soft hiss of mana filters, the low rhythm of machines guarding dreams.
Arin sat on the edge of his cot, staring at his own reflection in the glass wall.
A thin red light traced along his restraints, pulsing gently.
It almost looked like a heartbeat.
Kalink's last words still echoed in his skull — "It wasn't me this time… it was you."
He whispered into the quiet, "Then maybe… they're not safe with me."
His voice sounded small in the sterile air.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Then he stood — slow, deliberate — and walked toward the door.
The sensors blinked in response, scanning for authorization.
A brief spark of red light danced in his palm.
The security system clicked.
ACCESS GRANTED – SUBJECT 7
He didn't even realize he'd done it. The system recognized him instinctively.
Not as Arin.
As something else.
Something buried deeper than his name.
The doors slid open without a sound.
The cameras above flickered for exactly seven seconds — then went dark.
No alarms.
No guards stirred.
It was as if the base itself was helping him leave.
He moved through the empty corridors barefoot, each step soundless on the cold floor.
In the observation room, a coffee mug still steamed — someone had left mid-shift, exhausted.
He paused, noticing the soft hum of the main console. On it, the system logs glowed faintly:
Containment Status – Stable. Vitals Normal. Subject Resting.
All lies.
He tore a blank page from the report binder and wrote, his hand shaking slightly but his words sharp:
If I stay, someone will die. If I go, maybe you'll live to hate me later.
Thank you—for believing there's still a 'me' left to save.
Don't follow.
—Arin
He folded the note neatly and placed it on the console beside Perin's small resting pod.
The little creature stirred, sensing him.
Perin opened sleepy eyes and chirped softly.
"Shh…" Arin smiled faintly, kneeling beside him. "Stay with them. Protect Shivani and Om Sai when I'm gone."
Perin's tail flicked once in protest, but Arin whispered, "I'll come back when I can control it. I promise."
The fox-like creature lowered its head and pressed its nose against the glass.
Arin touched the same spot from the other side.
Then he turned and left.
Every motion was careful.
Every corner was memorized.
He slipped through the auxiliary hall toward the old elevator shaft — one rarely used after the containment expansion.
The elevator was locked, but his palm lit up faintly again.
The system accepted.
AUTHORIZED ACCESS – PROJECT ECHO.
He didn't see it.
He didn't know that the file name flashed on every hidden monitor in the underground data core.
No one was there to notice it — not the sleeping operators, not the night-shift guards lulled into faint drowsiness by the energy dampeners in the air.
Even the surveillance A.I. froze for exactly one second — like someone had ordered it to look away.
The elevator doors opened to cold wind and rain.
Outside, the world stretched wide and silent.
He stepped into it without looking back.
His breath formed pale clouds in the air.
His eyes — faintly glowing blue and red — reflected the lights of the base fading behind him.
He whispered to himself, "I'll find out what I really am… before they have to."
Lightning split the horizon.
And Arin vanished into the storm.
Back inside the base, everything stayed still.
The monitors kept looping the same report line, unaware it was now a lie:
CONTAINMENT SECURE. SUBJECT STABLE.
No one noticed he was gone.
Not until morning.