The moment they crossed the last fractured boundary, the underground stopped pretending.
The air changed first.
Not temperature.
Not pressure.
Attention.
Yin Lie felt it like a needle sliding under his skin.
"…We're visible," he murmured.
Kai didn't answer. She was already moving faster, scanning the tunnel ahead as the lights shifted from amber to a clean, artificial white. The walls lost their scars. The stone gave way to reinforced concrete.
City architecture.
Order.
Definition.
Qin Mian stumbled as the transition hit her Anchor senses—hard.
Her field tried to find something to hold.
There was nothing.
The underground had released them completely.
When the City Locks On
Above them, systems aligned.
Not alarms.
Not sirens.
Authorization.
Yin Lie's vision sharpened painfully. Every edge was too clear, every distance too exact. The drift didn't vanish—it was constrained, like a wild thing forced into a narrow cage.
He gagged, dropping to one knee.
Kai grabbed him.
"Stay up," she ordered.
"If you go down here, they'll triangulate."
"They already have," he said hoarsely.
He could feel it now—
the city's logic sliding over him, measuring, labeling, deciding.
SUBJECT CONFIRMED
POSITIONAL INSTABILITY: CONTAINABLE
RESPONSE WINDOW: OPEN
Qin Mian gasped.
"I can feel it," she said.
"It's… choosing how to hold him."
Kai's jaw tightened.
"That's worse than the underground."
Stability That Hurts
The drift changed.
No longer slipping sideways—
it compressed inward.
Yin Lie screamed as his senses slammed back into alignment all at once. His body convulsed, muscles locking as if reality had snapped a collar around his throat.
"This is what she does," he choked.
"She doesn't let you move wrong."
Qin Mian reached for him instinctively—
and froze.
Her Anchor flared violently, then recoiled, as if burned.
She cried out, clutching her chest.
"It won't let me touch him," she sobbed.
"It's blocking me."
Kai swore.
"She's isolating variables."
Yin Lie forced himself upright, shaking.
"…Good," he rasped.
"That means she's afraid of interference."
The First Containment Net
They heard it before they saw it.
A low hum.
Perfectly even.
Drones slid into view at the end of the corridor—sleek, white, unmarked. Not weapons.
Frameworks.
Containment geometry projected into the air, invisible until it touched him.
Yin Lie staggered as space tightened.
Kai raised her weapon—but stopped.
"Don't," Yin Lie said quickly.
"That'll escalate."
The drones paused.
A voice spoke—not the Director.
An operator.
"Subject Yin Lie," it said calmly.
"You are outside tolerated zones.
Remain still for stabilization."
Qin Mian screamed.
"No!"
Yin Lie met the hovering geometry with hollow eyes.
"…This is what stability costs," he said softly.
A Choice Made in Seconds
Kai's mind raced.
Fight now—die.
Run—leave him.
There was no third option.
Unless—
"Mian," Kai said sharply.
"Look at me."
Qin Mian sobbed, shaking.
"I can't anchor him," she cried.
"I can't—"
"I know," Kai said.
"But you can do something else."
Qin Mian looked up.
Kai leaned close.
"Distract the system," she whispered.
"Not by holding him."
Her eyes locked with Qin Mian's.
"By breaking expectation."
Qin Mian froze.
Understanding dawned.
"That'll hurt," she whispered.
Kai didn't deny it.
"But it might buy seconds."
The drones advanced.
Containment geometry closed.
Yin Lie felt himself being defined—edges hardening, drift forced flat.
"…Don't," he whispered to Qin Mian.
"Please."
She wiped her tears.
"I won't anchor you," she said.
"But I won't let them decide what you are either."
She stepped forward.
And let her Anchor field do something it had never done before.
She turned it outward.
Before the Net Closes
The world hesitated.
Just once.
Enough.
Kai moved.
The shot echoed sharp and loud, shattering one drone mid-projection.
Alarms screamed to life.
Containment geometry flickered.
Yin Lie felt the collar loosen for half a breath—
and took it.
He lunged forward, pain tearing through him as drift surged uncontrolled again.
Behind them, the city corrected.
Fast.
Too fast.
This wasn't escape.
It was delay.
But delay was all they had ever survived on.
And somewhere above, the Director finally spoke again.
Cold.
Certain.
"Escalation confirmed," she said.
"Do not lose him this time."
The hunt had entered a new phase.