CHAPTER 13
Blackridge didn't collapse all at once.
That was the first lie people told later.
They said alarms screamed and walls fell and doors burst open like some movie ending. They said chaos arrived loud and obvious, easy to point at.
That wasn't how it happened.
Collapse came quietly.
It came as hesitation.
It came as a guard standing still for half a second too long, staring at a panel that gave two different answers at the same time.
It came as a door that opened when it wasn't supposed to, then stayed open, unsure whether to apologize.
Kade felt it under his feet before he saw it anywhere else.
The floor vibrated—not violently, not dramatically—just enough to tell him the building was arguing with itself.
He steadied Elias with one arm. His brother was breathing hard, sweat-soaked, eyes too bright, but present. Human-present. That mattered more than anything.
"Stay with me," Kade said, low and firm.
"I am," Elias said, though his voice shook. "I'm here. I just… everything feels loud."
"That's because the walls are thinking out loud now," Kade replied.
They stepped into the corridor.
No guards.
That was wrong.
Blackridge never left hallways empty during emergencies. Emptiness meant the system had failed to assign fear properly.
Arden staggered out behind them, blood on her temple, coat torn, her authority stripped bare by circumstance. She looked smaller without her screens.
"What direction?" she asked automatically, clinging to procedure like a life raft.
Kade didn't answer.
He crouched.
Put his palm flat against the floor.
Closed his eyes.
Counted.
One…
Two…
Three—
A distant thud. Heavy. Metallic. Somewhere to the left.
"Ventilation gate just failed," he said. "Sublevel Nine or Ten."
Arden stared. "How could you possibly—"
"Because Blackridge was built by people who assumed it would never need to lie," Kade said. "When it does, it tells on itself."
He stood.
"We're going right."
They moved.
The first guards they encountered were running toward them.
That was the second lie.
Two men in Blackridge uniforms skidded to a stop when they saw Kade and Elias. Their weapons lifted automatically, then hesitated.
"Stand down!" one barked.
The other looked at his wrist display, then back at Kade.
"Sir… I'm getting conflicting clearance flags."
Kade raised his hands slowly.
"You should," he said calmly. "You're standing at the intersection of three command authorities and one system panic."
The first guard swallowed. "You're the Priority Black detainee."
"Yes."
"And you're… not restrained."
"No."
Silence stretched.
Behind them, another alarm chirped—short, sharp—then cut itself off halfway through.
The second guard frowned. "Did you hear that?"
"That's the medical wing losing jurisdiction," Kade said. "Means someone finally noticed the Maw shut itself down."
The first guard's grip tightened on his weapon.
"What do you want us to do?"
That was the moment.
Not the explosion.
Not the alarms.
Not the collapse.
That question.
Kade met his eyes.
"I want you to survive," he said. "Which means you don't point that at me, and you don't run toward the people pretending they still know what's happening."
The guard hesitated.
Then lowered his weapon.
The other followed.
Arden stared like she was watching gravity reverse.
"You can't just—" she started.
"Yes," Kade said. "I can. Because people don't follow orders in collapse."
He stepped past them.
"They follow confidence."
They descended a stairwell that should have been locked.
It wasn't.
The lights flickered, then stabilized, then flickered again. Elias flinched with each change.
"Kade," he whispered, "it's like it's trying to remember what it's supposed to be."
"It is," Kade said. "And it's failing."
A memory surfaced—uninvited, sharp.
He was fifteen. School hallway. Fire alarm malfunctioning. Teachers shouting conflicting instructions. Students freezing, unsure whether to evacuate or stay put.
Kade hadn't waited.
He'd followed the kids who moved with purpose, not the ones shouting.
Later, they'd called him lucky.
He'd called it obvious.
The stairwell ended in a service corridor that smelled like ozone and old water.
Sera was waiting there.
Alive.
Leaning against the wall, pale, jaw set, eyes sharp as broken glass.
Kade didn't stop walking. He just nodded once.
"Sera."
"You look like hell," she said.
"You should see the place."
She fell into step beside them, matching pace instantly.
"Dorian?" Kade asked.
She didn't answer immediately.
Then: "Not dead."
Kade exhaled.
"But not free," she added.
"Where?"
"Control spine," she said. "Or what's left of it."
Kade smiled grimly.
"Of course."
The control spine was never meant to be seen by detainees.
That was the third lie.
It wasn't hidden behind force. It was hidden behind assumption.
People assumed prisons had a single control room. A big one. A dramatic one.
Blackridge didn't.
It had dozens.
Small ones.
Distributed.
Redundant.
Which meant, when collapse came, none of them knew who was in charge.
They burst into the spine corridor to shouting.
Citadel officers arguing with Blackridge administrators.
Weapons raised. Orders contradicted mid-sentence.
Dorian stood at the center of it all.
Not restrained.
Not free.
Standing very still, eyes flickering faintly, jaw clenched like he was holding something back with his teeth.
Kade saw immediately what they hadn't.
Dorian wasn't being guarded.
He was being used as a reference point.
Every system feed routed through him.
A living checksum.
"Kade," Dorian said, voice strained. "You're late."
"You always say that," Kade replied.
He walked straight into the room.
Weapons snapped toward him.
"STOP!" someone yelled.
Kade didn't.
He stopped three feet from Dorian.
"Don't move," Dorian warned quietly. "If they lose me completely—"
"They already have," Kade said.
He reached out and pressed two fingers lightly against Dorian's wrist.
Right where the pulse stuttered.
Dorian gasped.
The flicker in his eyes intensified, then steadied.
"What did you just do?" he whispered.
"Reminded your body what rhythm feels like," Kade said. "You've been compensating for missing input. You don't need to anymore."
A Citadel officer lunged forward. "Get away from him!"
The lights cut out.
Not emergency this time.
Total black.
Someone screamed.
Then—
Light.
Soft. White.
System reboot.
Every screen in the room flashed the same message:
AUTHORITY CONFLICT — DEFAULTING TO SAFE MODE
Silence.
Dorian straightened.
The violet glow vanished from his eyes.
He blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then laughed—short, incredulous, human.
"Oh," he said. "That's… new."
Kade smiled.
"Welcome back."
Sera let out a shaky breath.
Arden slumped against a console.
"What did you do?" she whispered again.
Kade finally looked at her.
"I told the system the truth," he said. "That it can't protect everyone."
He turned.
"And when systems can't be perfect, they choose least harm."
Doors throughout Blackridge unlocked simultaneously.
Not cells.
Exits.
They didn't run.
That was important.
Running marked you as prey.
They walked—fast, purposeful, like people who belonged where they were going.
Guards stepped aside.
Not because they were ordered to.
Because no one told them not to.
The final gate loomed ahead—massive, reinforced, symbolic.
It opened with a tired sigh.
Cold night air rushed in.
Elias stopped just short of it.
"Kade," he said quietly.
Kade turned.
Elias's eyes were clear now. Afraid, yes. Scarred, absolutely. But his.
"You knew this would cost something," Elias said.
Kade nodded.
"I don't know what I am without the noise," Elias admitted.
Kade stepped closer, rested his forehead against his brother's.
"Neither did I," he said. "That's how you know it's real."
They stepped through.
Behind them, Blackridge stood lit, unlocked, uncertain.
Not destroyed.
Just… exposed.
And for the first time since it was built, it didn't know who it was keeping in—or out.