For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The streetlights flickered overhead, casting fractured shapes across the pavement—shadows that trembled like frightened creatures. Palo stood frozen, the old drawing clenched in his fist so tightly the paper crumpled.
"My mother died trying to stop it."
Ash's words repeated again and again in his mind, each echo colder than the last.
Palo forced himself to swallow. "Stop what?"
Ash didn't answer.
Not immediately.
Instead, he slowly turned away, scanning the rooftops and narrow alleyways around them, as if expecting someone to step out of the darkness. His posture shifted—shoulders stiff, jaw set, every movement precise and guarded.
It was the behavior of someone who had lived with danger for a long time.
"Ash…?" Palo tried again.
Ash's hand twitched at his side. "Not here."
The answer wasn't comforting.
He motioned for Palo to follow, but Palo remained rooted in place.
"I'm not going anywhere until you explain," Palo said quietly. He tried to sound firm, but his voice betrayed the tremor beneath his skin. "How do you know about that drawing? How do you know I met your mom? I don't even remember her."
Ash turned back slowly, his eyes unreadable.
"You're not supposed to," he replied. "They wiped that day from your memory."
Palo's stomach dropped. "Who is 'they'?"
Ash hesitated.
For the first time since they met, he looked uncertain.
"I can't tell you everything yet," Ash said. "If I do, it puts you in more danger than you already are."
"I'm already in danger," Palo snapped, holding up the drawing. "Explain this."
Ash's gaze flicked to the paper, lingering on the trembling corners in Palo's grip. When he spoke again, his voice was controlled—but weaker somehow, like the words hurt him.
"My mother… she kept things. Records. Notes. Drawings."
A pause.
"Yours was the only one she hid."
Palo felt his heartbeat in his throat.
Hidden?
By a woman he didn't remember?
About a meeting he didn't recall having?
"Why?" Palo whispered.
Ash's eyes softened for the briefest moment, a flicker of something almost human and vulnerable beneath the layers of mystery.
"Because," Ash said quietly, "you weren't supposed to be part of any of this."
A cold breeze swept through the street. It pushed at Palo's clothing, tugged at Ash's dark hair, and carried with it the distant hum of machines from the industrial district.
Palo stepped closer, voice shaky but determined. "Ash… I need you to stop talking in riddles."
Ash exhaled slowly, as if preparing himself.
"Fine. A piece of the truth, then."
He pointed at the drawing. "That design—it isn't yours."
Palo blinked. "What do you mean? I drew it."
"You copied it," Ash said. "Even if you didn't realize you were copying."
Palo shook his head. "No. I've never seen a building like that. I made it up."
Ash didn't argue. He simply asked, "Then why does the same design appear in my mother's research? Years before she met you?"
Palo's breath hitched.
"That's impossible."
Ash stepped closer, the streetlight catching the tension in his jaw.
"Is it? You were seven. Children mimic things they don't understand. You drew it that day, right in front of her, and she realized—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
"Realized what?" Palo pressed.
Ash hesitated, then whispered:
"That you knew something no child should know."
Palo felt something inside him twist. "What are you talking about? I was seven. I barely remember anything from that age."
"That's exactly why they wanted you erased from the picture," Ash murmured.
A sudden shiver crawled up Palo's spine. He wasn't cold. He wasn't even scared in the normal sense.
It was worse.
He felt… watched.
Not by Ash.
By something else.
"Palo," Ash said suddenly, voice sharp. "Don't turn around."
Palo froze.
Ash's body shifted subtly, placing himself half in front of Palo without touching him. His eyes scanned the rooftops again, more urgently this time.
The air thickened.
"What is it?" Palo whispered.
Ash didn't blink. "I told you—this place isn't safe for this conversation."
"But someone's there?" Palo breathed.
Ash didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
Palo's hands felt cold around the drawing. His muscles tensed, ready to run though he didn't know where.
"Do you trust me?" Ash asked quietly.
Palo's breath trembled. "I barely know you."
Ash nodded once. "Then trust Audrey. She trusts you. And she trusts me."
The logic was thin. Weak. But it was all Palo had.
Ash extended a hand—not to grab him, but open, offering a path.
"We have to move," he said.
Palo hesitated only one heartbeat before taking a shaky step toward him—
Then a metallic clang echoed from the rooftop behind them.
Palo flinched. Ash's eyes snapped upward, narrowing with frightening focus.
"Run," Ash said softly.
Palo didn't need to be told twice.
They ran.
But the footsteps above them ran, too.
---