The elevator hummed steadily on its way down, a low mechanical vibration traveling up through the floor. Sherry’s hand was in mine, warm against my palm, her thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles in small, absent circles.

"So you’re telling me Sinn is the one who brought men to take down CGI?" she asked, genuine confusion in her voice, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked up at me.

"Yes."

She looked at me for a long moment, eyes searching mine, the soft glow of the elevator lights catching on her short brunette hair. "You need to be careful, Bram. We can’t just pick a side because we still can’t tell who’s right and who’s wrong here."

"I think Bala’s right," I said.

The way I said it made her pull back slightly, shoulders finding the cool metal of the elevator wall as it slowed and stopped, her fingers loosening in mine for a fraction of a second.

"Bram." Her eyes found mine as the doors opened to the sub-level, the cool air rushing in. "You and I are different from these people. It doesn’t matter which government takes control. We’ll never really be considered citizens. Not truly."

"This isn’t about the government," I said, and we walked out.

She stopped just past the doors and turned to face me, the corridor lights casting soft shadows across her face. "Then what is it about?"

I wanted to tell her. I wanted to say that it lined up with the purpose the system had been building me toward since the life layer, that Bala’s fight and my father’s mission were pointing at the same thing, that opening the walls wasn’t just Bala’s idea, it was Ethan Nadez’s dying wish. But the words didn’t come. Something held them back, and I stood there looking at her and said nothing.

"You don’t get it, Bram." Her voice dropped, not angry, just tired in the specific way of someone who has seen too much and keeps seeing it. "The walls are full of people chasing their own motives. Every single one of them. I thought Goth was bad. This is worse."

She wasn’t wrong. Bala had called us the people he trusted, but there were things he hadn’t told us tonight and I’d noticed every gap.

We started walking again. The corridor stretched ahead, sterile and quiet, the first checkpoint unmanned. The palm scanner sat dark and lifeless.

"Becky’s lying in a hospital bed with fractured bones fighting for these walls," Sherry said, walking beside me, her shoulder brushing mine with each step. "The walls don’t deserve her. They don’t deserve Max, or Nesto, or any of them." She paused. "They don’t deserve you either."

"The walls gave me something I couldn’t have found anywhere else," I said, looking at her.

She met my eyes. "You don’t get it. Do you?"

"Tell me."

She stopped walking completely. The corridor lights buzzed faintly overhead. "Just don’t give your life to people who won’t appreciate it." Her voice was quiet now, almost gentle—the tone she used when she meant something the most. "That’s all I’m saying."

I held her gaze for a long moment.

She was talking about the walls. But I knew she wasn’t only talking about the walls.

"I know," I said, brushing her shoulder with my thumb. "You know I’ll always stand for what’s right."

She started walking again, pulling slightly ahead, her footsteps echoing softly down the corridor.

"Abram." Her voice came back over her shoulder. "You’ve changed."

I moved to catch up as we hit the second checkpoint, also unmanned, the scanner dark like the first.

"How have I changed?" I asked, two steps behind her.

"I don’t know." She turned briefly, just enough to look at me, her eyes catching the overhead lights for a moment. "I just feel like you’re different." Then she faced forward again.

Something was sitting on her. Something that had been there since I’d come through the door of the mission room and she’d held me a beat too long. This was our first real conversation since last night, and last night had changed something between us that neither of us had named yet.

I quickened my pace.

"Sherry." She kept walking. "Sherry."

She stopped when I caught up and turned to face me. Her expression was trying hard to stay neutral, but her shoulders were tight, jaw clenched.

"What’s going on?" I asked.

"Nothing." The word came out too flat. "Let’s get the footage and make Lord Bala happy. Isn’t that what you want?"

I caught the tone and took her hand before she could move again. Turned her gently to face me, both her hands in mine, thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

"Tell me what’s wrong," I said. "You can trust me. You know that."

Her eyes moved away from mine. She wasn’t ready to say it, whatever it was.

"It’s okay," I said, and pulled her in. She let me. "It’s okay. I’m here. Whatever it is, you can say it when you’re ready."

She held on, her body warm against mine, breath steadying against my chest.

"You’ve always been my anchor, Sherry," I said quietly. "I need you. We go in there, we get the footage, and then we talk. Okay?"

"Okay," she said, voice muffled against my shirt.

We walked through the third and fourth checkpoints in silence, the corridor narrowing, the hum of the sub-level growing around us.

"I’m sorry, Bram," she said after a moment, coming back to herself, her fingers tightening in mine.

"Don’t be," I said. "Whatever it is, I get it."

She looked at me sideways, camera in hand. "I’m terrified of losing you," she said quietly. "That’s what it is."

We stepped into the large observation room.

"I’m terrified too," I said.

She stopped walking. Looked at me properly. "Are you?"

"Yes."

Something in her face settled. Not all the way, but enough.

"Okay," she said. "Let’s do this." She switched the camera on.

We walked toward the glass chamber together, and I looked through the thick reinforced wall.

"Is she supposed to be in there?" Sherry asked, something off in her voice.

"Yes," I said, leaning closer, scanning the chamber.

The girl was gone.

The girl was gone.

The chamber stood empty, lit and sealed and completely empty, and whatever Bala had been counting on to change everything was no longer inside it.