The underground did not push Yin Lie away.
It simply stopped holding him.
There was no warning.
No dramatic shift.
Just a moment when the ground beneath his feet decided it no longer needed to agree on where he stood.
Yin Lie felt it as a loss of permission.
The pressure that had kept him aligned—barely, imperfectly—vanished.
His knees buckled.
Stone blurred.
And the world tilted—not forward, not sideways—
outward.
The Edge of the Stable Zone
Kai caught him before he hit the floor.
Or tried to.
Her hands closed on his arms—
and slid.
Not through him.
Past the idea of where he should be.
"Damn it—!" she cursed, adjusting her grip, forcing herself to look at him, not where she expected him to be.
Qin Mian screamed his name.
The sound reached him late.
Like everything else now.
"…I'm here," Yin Lie said, but the words felt delayed, dragged through water.
The graying-bearded man stared at the ground beneath Yin Lie's feet.
"No," he said softly.
"He's crossed the boundary."
Qin Mian's heart pounded.
"What boundary?"
"The stable zone," the man replied.
"The places the underground agrees to maintain."
Yin Lie laughed weakly.
"That figures."
What Exile Looks Like
Nothing collapsed.
Nothing attacked.
The underground simply… lost interest.
Cracks no longer aligned beneath Yin Lie.
Support structures didn't adjust for his weight.
Even sound behaved strangely—his footsteps echoed twice, then not at all.
He tried to stand on his own.
The floor did not resist.
His foot sank—not physically, but conceptually—like stepping onto a thought that hadn't finished forming.
Kai grabbed him again.
"Stop moving," she snapped.
"You're desynchronizing faster."
Yin Lie clenched his teeth.
"I can't feel where I'm supposed to be."
Qin Mian reached for him—
and this time, her hand connected.
Too strongly.
Pain exploded through her arm, up into her chest, as her Anchor reacted instinctively—trying to pull him back into coherence.
She screamed and collapsed to her knees.
"Mian!" Kai shouted.
Yin Lie felt it instantly.
"Don't!" he yelled.
"Let go!"
She didn't want to.
She forced herself to.
The connection snapped.
Both of them gasped.
The Underground's Price
The woman with the mechanical eye approached slowly, lens whirring, eyes wide.
"It released him," she said.
"Fully."
Qin Mian shook, tears streaking her face.
"Why?"
The woman didn't soften the answer.
"Because he became a conflict."
Yin Lie swallowed.
"So this is exile."
The graying-bearded man nodded grimly.
"The underground can't let the city define itself through you," he said.
"And it can't protect you without being defined."
He looked at Yin Lie.
"So it chose the only option left."
Qin Mian clenched her fists.
"To abandon him?"
"To let him go," the man corrected.
"There's a difference."
Yin Lie closed his eyes.
He could feel it now.
The underground wasn't hostile.
It just wasn't his home anymore.
The Cost Becomes Physical
The drift returned.
Not all at once.
In waves.
His vision split, recombined, then split again. His heartbeat sounded wrong—too loud, then too quiet.
Kai held him upright, jaw tight.
"Lie, stay with me," she said.
"Pick one thing. Focus."
He tried.
His thoughts scattered.
"I can't tell which version of me is winning," he whispered.
Qin Mian crawled closer, ignoring the pain still buzzing in her arms.
"There's only one you," she said desperately.
"Look at me."
He did.
For a second—
he stabilized.
Just long enough.
Then the world tugged again.
No Longer Protected
A deep tremor rolled through the tunnels—not collapse, not threat.
Reconfiguration.
Paths sealed behind them now, not ahead.
The graying-bearded man's face hardened.
"We can't keep you here," he said.
Kai looked up sharply.
"You said you wouldn't force them out."
"I said we wouldn't rush," the man replied.
"This isn't force."
He gestured to Yin Lie.
"This is incompatibility."
Qin Mian shook her head.
"There has to be another place."
"There is," the man said.
"But it's not underground."
Yin Lie felt a chill.
"…Above?"
The man nodded.
"Closer to the city's logic," he said.
"Where drift gets punished quickly."
Kai swore.
"That's suicide."
"Yes," the man agreed.
"But it's also defined."
The Final Sign
Before anyone could respond, Yin Lie felt it—
the underground presence, once more.
Not touching.
Not holding.
Just… watching him leave.
A final alignment passed through him—not stabilizing, not comforting—
a farewell.
Then the sensation vanished.
The drift surged back stronger.
Yin Lie sagged in Kai's arms.
"I don't belong here anymore," he said softly.
Qin Mian grabbed his hand, gripping hard despite the pain.
"Then we go," she said.
"Wherever you fall, I'll follow."
Kai met her eyes.
"You understand what that means."
Qin Mian nodded.
"I do."
The underground lights dimmed—not in warning—
in closure.
Behind them, stone settled into new shapes that would never remember Yin Lie's weight.
Ahead of them—
the city waited.
And this time, Yin Lie would enter it
without shelter,
without anchor,
and without a place willing to soften his fall.
The price of refusal had been paid.
And the bill was not finished.