The bunker door was still half open, metal groaning softly as cold morning air slipped inside. Dust floated lazily in the dim light. Goro was already gone, his heavy footsteps swallowed by the underground tunnels beyond the base.
Yuki turned to Veyron, her expression sharp but tired.
"Go after him."
Veyron blinked. "What?"
"It's not normal," she said quietly. "Not for Goro. He doesn't snap like that. Not unless something really hits him." She glanced toward the dark corridor where he disappeared. "This time… it did."
Veyron hesitated only a second before following her toward the entrance. They stopped just a step outside the bunker door, far enough that their voices would not carry back inside. The air out here felt colder. Heavier.
Yuki leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes lowered.
"There used to be two others here. A boy. And his mother."
Veyron felt his chest tighten.
"This was before I found you, your mom, and Akari," Yuki continued. "They were hiding here with us. No powers. Just… people who knew too much."
She inhaled slowly.
"They died in the only attack this bunker ever suffered."
Veyron's fingers curled into his palms. "The army?"
Yuki nodded. "General Alaric led it."
The name echoed in Veyron's head like a gunshot.
"He's the one who caught all of us," she said. "I was first. I was fifteen. After that, every year or so, more people disappeared. Shin. Nyra. Goro. Axel. Different places. Same outcome. Alaric didn't run the experiments himself, but he controlled the bases. Security. Transport. Punishment."
Her voice hardened.
"He wasn't merciful."
Veyron remembered the mirror. The shot. The smile on Alaric's face before pulling the trigger.
"That attack…" Yuki continued, quieter now, "was the only time this place was breached. Goro held the line. But he couldn't save them. Ever since then, he's been… strict. Cold. This base is the only thing he believes he still controls."
She looked at Veyron then, really looked at him.
"And today, it felt like history repeating itself."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of the city above.
"That's why he exploded," she said. "Not because of Akari. Not really. Because he's terrified of losing more people."
Veyron swallowed. "So you want me to talk to him."
"Yes." Yuki straightened. "But don't go too far. Goro moves fast when he's angry, but he won't leave the area. Still… be quick. Please."
Veyron nodded. His heart was already racing.
As he stepped away, Yuki added softly,
"Just… remind him that we're still here. That he didn't fail today."
Night swallowed the city whole.
It was 11:30 PM when Goro walked alone through the empty streets, hands in his pockets, shoulders heavy. He hadn't truly run from the bunker. He never did. Letting it look like he was leaving was easier than admitting he needed air. Space. Silence.
He wasn't angry anymore.
He was tired.
The kind of tired that didn't come from battles or sleepless nights, but from hoping—quietly, stubbornly—that history would not repeat itself.
Streetlights flickered above him, one after another, casting long shadows that stretched and snapped like broken memories. Goro kept his pace steady. Slow. Measured.
Far behind him, footsteps echoed.
Veyron was running.
His lungs burned, legs screaming, but he didn't stop. He couldn't see Goro clearly yet—only a distant silhouette, barely visible beneath the dim glow of the city lights. Still, it was enough. Enough to chase. Enough to hope.
The distance between them slowly shrank.
And somewhere above, something moved.
Not a sound. Not a footstep.
A shift.
Something slid along the darkness between streetlight poles, leaping where light could not linger. Watching. Waiting.
Veyron didn't notice at first. His focus was locked forward, breath sharp in his chest, eyes strained on the distant figure ahead. But then—something felt wrong. A pressure, subtle and crawling, like eyes pressing against the back of his skull.
A shadow jumped.
Streetlight to streetlight.
Veyron slowed. His foot caught awkwardly on the pavement and he nearly fell. He stopped entirely beneath a streetlight, its glow throwing an enormous shadow behind him, stretching far too long across the asphalt.
His heart slammed.
"GORO!" he screamed, voice tearing through the night.
"WAIT!"
The word echoed down the empty street.
"They're calling for you!" Veyron shouted again, panic bleeding into his voice. "The whole base! Yuki—everyone! I just want to talk!"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the distant silhouette stopped.
Goro turned.
And he ran back.
Veyron's chest heaved as he waited, eyes darting around wildly. The shadows were still now. Too still. Whatever had been moving… wasn't anymore.
Goro reached him, breathing hard, confusion and frustration tangled across his face.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said.
Veyron didn't waste time.
He told him everything.
About the boy. The mother. The attack. About Alaric. About Yuki's fear and her guilt. About how Akari wasn't weak, how Reina wasn't helpless, how none of them were just baggage to be discarded.
"My sister will be strong," Veyron said, voice shaking but firm. "And so will my mom. And me. We're not here to hide—we're here to change things."
Goro looked away.
"I know I shouldn't have done that," he muttered. "I lost control."
He clenched his jaw. "But I'm scared. Every time I let someone in… someone dies."
Veyron swallowed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But we're already here. And we're not leaving."
Silence stretched.
Finally, Goro exhaled.
"I'll think about coming back," he said. "That's all I can promise."
He turned to leave.
"Goro," Veyron called.
The man paused.
"There's one thing no one else knows," Veyron said, eyes burning. "I don't want to survive this world. I want to break it. I want to overthrow the government. All of it. Their control. Their seals."
For the first time that night, Goro smiled.
Just a little.
Then he walked away, disappearing into the dark.
Veyron turned and ran back toward the bunker, adrenaline pushing him forward. He didn't slow until the distance between him and Goro was wide enough that the street felt empty again.
That's when he heard it.
A soft, mocking whistle.
Veyron froze.
The sound came from behind him. Above him. Everywhere at once.
He turned. A shadow stood beneath the next streetlight—a man-shaped silhouette wrapped in a long cloak. His hair looked like black smoke, shifting unnaturally, as if it wasn't bound by gravity at all. A long band wrapped around his forehead, trailing slightly as if caught in an unseen wind.
In his hand was a pistol.
The shape of it—angular, alien, almost organic—made Veyron's blood turn cold.
The same.
The figure leapt.
Too fast. Too high.
He landed directly in front of Veyron without a sound, the cloak rippling as dark smoke crawled along its surface. Everything about him was black—clothes, weapon, presence itself—except his eyes.
White.
With red pupils.
Human skin beneath the shadow.
The man tilted his head, studying Veyron with something close to pity.
"Took you long enough," he said calmly. "I was just waiting for you to be alone again."
He raised the pistol slightly.
"End of the line," the man whispered.
"Prey."