They reached the shelter — a half-collapsed underground station where Eon's maintenance capsules had once stood. Fog seeped through cracks in the concrete, mixing with the cold stench of dampness and dust. A single lamp pulsed on the ceiling like a sick heart, casting pale, torn shadows. The air was heavy and suffocating, smelling of rust and anticipation.
The network hissed; the signal flickered, struggling against the thick layers of concrete. Min-Ki's voice broke through the static and crackle:
— If the connection cuts off — just keep moving. Follow the scent. I'll find you...
The words dissolved into a sharp electronic screech, then — dead, ringing silence. The ether went dark.
Ryon felt a physical, phantom pain — as if a part of his consciousness had been carved out, a delicate nervous system torn away, one that had sustained him for years. The suppressors were nearly depleted, and he felt his body as an open, pulsating wound.
He sank down by the wall, pressing against the cold concrete. The broken link with Min-Ki left a hollow void in his sensory field.
Jisong, quiet and attentive, became his new point of gravity. He didn't ask questions — he simply stayed, filling the silence with his presence. The distant hum of machinery outside sounded like the murmur of a life they no longer belonged to.
***
The silence was alive and warm, despite the chill of the concrete. Jisong sat beside him — close enough that one breath could bridge the space between them. For several minutes, they deliberately avoided looking at each other, leaving only breathing and scent between them.
Ryon lowered his eyes, his shoulder tense from the effort not to move, not to show weakness.
Jisong gave in first. He shifted closer — slowly, as if approaching a wild animal. Their elbows brushed, a brief, hard contact — the only physical proof of connection in that moment.
Ryon froze, feeling a hot current crawl up his arm — the pulse of someone else's warmth. He didn't move away. He let that heat seep through the fabric, deeper, anchoring him. For the first time since the beginning of their escape, his body loosened, accepting the weight and presence of another.
The rupture of the link with Min-Ki had left a void that immediately filled with Jisong's rhythm. Ryon caught the Alpha's heartbeat — deep, even, grounding. The network that had once connected him to Min-Ki was gone, but in its place, a new one was forming — physical, instinctive, alive.
Jisong became his unconscious anchor.
***
Jisong felt Ryon's body suddenly relax beside him. He turned his gaze toward Ryon's profile, illuminated by the flickering light. Soot and scratches still marked his skin.
— Did you find what you were looking for? — Jisong asked softly, meaning not the archives, but himself.
Ryon shook his head. His voice was hoarse:
— I lost what I was. Now I don't know.
Jisong slowly laid his hand on Ryon's thigh — not pressing, just marking presence. The gesture was simple, yet commanding.
— You're here, — said Jisong. — And you're mine. That's enough. I'll be your network.
Ryon closed his eyes, inhaling the dense, grounding scent of Jisong — sharp, with hints of coffee and ozone. For the first time, his body accepted protection not as a code, but as a need. He leaned his head on Jisong's shoulder, surrendering all his weight.
And that presence was enough to keep Ryon from falling into the vacuum left after Min-Ki. He was broken — but now, warmth and weight were gathering him back together, piece by piece.