The underground did not feel safe.
It only felt quieter.
The emergency shaft sealed behind them with a long, grinding sigh, and the echoes of the city above faded into something distant and unreal. Rusted rails ran along the walls like veins, dripping water that smelled of metal and old dust.
Yin Lie stumbled.
Not a dramatic fall.
Just a small misstep.
Enough to make Qin Mian grab him instinctively.
"Lie—hey—slow down."
His hand tightened around hers, too hard.
"I'm fine," he said quickly.
But his voice was wrong.
Too shallow.
Too tight.
Kai noticed immediately.
"Stop," she ordered.
They halted on a narrow platform, dim amber lights flickering overhead. The silence pressed in, broken only by Yin Lie's uneven breathing.
Qin Mian turned to face him.
"Lie. Look at me."
He tried.
His eyes focused for a second—
then drifted.
The glow beneath his skin pulsed out of rhythm, like a heart forgetting how to beat properly.
"…It's catching up," he admitted quietly.
Kai frowned.
"What is?"
"All of it."
He leaned back against the cold metal wall, sliding down until he was sitting. His shoulders shook once, sharply, like his body had hit a limit it hadn't warned him about.
Qin Mian dropped beside him immediately.
"No—no—don't sit like that—Lie—"
Her hands moved on instinct, checking him, grounding him, Anchor field brushing against his resonance.
And she felt it.
Not damage.
Mismatch.
His power wasn't tearing him apart anymore.
His body was.
She swallowed hard.
"…Your systems aren't aligned," she whispered.
"Your muscles, your nerves—
they can't keep up with what your resonance is doing."
Yin Lie closed his eyes.
"That's… what it feels like," he murmured.
"Like my body is… outdated."
Kai crouched nearby, expression dark.
"You forced multiple state shifts in less than an hour," she said.
"Instability, semi-awakening, suppression pressure, then resistance."
She shook her head.
"No baseline human body survives that cleanly."
Qin Mian's chest tightened.
"But he's not human," she said softly.
Kai met her gaze.
"That's the problem."
The First Symptom
Yin Lie inhaled—and choked.
His hand flew to his chest.
Not pain.
Pressure.
Like something inside him expanded too fast.
Qin Mian grabbed his shoulders.
"Lie—breathe—slow—slow—"
He tried.
Failed.
A low sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a growl.
The air around them warped faintly.
Kai tensed.
"Anchor him. Now."
Qin Mian didn't hesitate.
She pressed her forehead to his.
"Lie, stay with me.
Don't push.
Let me hold it."
Her Anchor field spread—not wide, not strong—
precise.
She didn't suppress him.
She supported the places that were slipping.
Yin Lie shuddered violently.
"…It hurts," he whispered.
"Not like before.
Like… everything is late.
My reactions—my nerves—"
His fingers twitched, opening and closing without command.
"My body doesn't answer me fast enough."
Kai cursed under her breath.
"Neurological desync," she said.
"Your power outran your biology."
Qin Mian felt panic rise.
"Can you fix it?"
Kai hesitated.
"No."
The word landed hard.
She continued, quieter:
"We can manage it.
Slow it.
Stabilize short-term."
"But—" Qin Mian started.
"But the cost will keep accumulating," Kai finished.
Yin Lie laughed weakly.
"So… I'm on a timer."
No one argued.
When Strength Leaves Marks
They moved again after several minutes—
slowly this time.
Yin Lie leaned heavily on Qin Mian, his steps uneven. Every few meters, his knees buckled slightly, like his body forgot gravity rules for half a second.
At one point, his vision fractured.
The tunnel split into three overlapping images.
"…Mian?"
"I'm here."
He reached for her—and missed.
His hand passed through empty air before finding her sleeve on the second try.
Qin Mian's throat tightened.
"…You couldn't see me."
He nodded once.
"Latency," he said faintly.
"My senses lag."
Kai stopped again.
"That's bad."
Yin Lie forced a breath.
"How bad?"
"If it gets worse," Kai said, not sugarcoating it,
"you'll start misfiring.
Reacting to threats that already passed.
Or ones that don't exist."
Qin Mian felt a chill.
"And if he uses his power again?"
Kai didn't answer immediately.
Then:
"His body might shut down to protect itself."
Yin Lie closed his eyes.
"Or I might."
Qin Mian grabbed his face.
"No.
No, don't say that."
He opened his eyes again—clear for just a moment.
"I'm not afraid," he said quietly.
"I just don't want my last mistake
to hurt you."
Her tears finally fell.
"Then don't make decisions without me," she said.
"You don't get to disappear alone."
Something in his expression softened.
"…Okay."
The Weight of Survival
They reached a maintenance chamber—small, circular, partially collapsed. Old benches lined the walls. Pipes hummed faintly.
Kai gestured.
"We rest. Five minutes. No more."
Yin Lie collapsed onto the bench, breathing hard.
Qin Mian sat in front of him, knees touching his.
She placed her hands carefully on his forearms, grounding points she was starting to recognize instinctively.
"Tell me when it spikes," she said.
"Don't wait."
He nodded weakly.
"…Mian?"
"Yes."
"If I lose control…
if my body reacts before my mind—"
She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his.
"I'll stop you.
And if I can't—
I'll hold you until it passes."
His lips trembled.
"…You shouldn't have to."
"I know," she said.
"But I choose to."
Kai watched them quietly from the edge of the room.
This wasn't strategy.
This wasn't containment.
This was survival through connection.
And that scared her more than any weapon.
The Cost Is Not Done
After a few minutes, Yin Lie's breathing steadied.
But something else changed.
His glow dimmed.
Not stabilized.
Depleted.
Kai noticed.
"You're burning reserves without activating power."
Yin Lie frowned faintly.
"…I feel empty."
Qin Mian felt it too—
his resonance thinner, less responsive.
"What does that mean?" she asked.
Kai's voice was grim.
"It means the next time you need power—
you won't have much warning."
Yin Lie exhaled slowly.
"So this is the price."
Not dramatic.
Not heroic.
Just fact.
He looked up at Qin Mian.
"I'm still standing," he said quietly.
"That has to count for something."
She nodded, wiping her tears.
"It does."
Above them, far beyond the sealed tunnels,
the city continued to shift, adapt, calculate.
Below it, three people rested in borrowed darkness—
knowing now that escape wasn't just about distance.
It was about how much of himself
Yin Lie could afford to lose
before there was nothing left to stand on.
And the clock had started ticking.