Bala had come to School Central before dawn, and we’d been summoned.

I sat with Sherry on the chairs outside the director’s office, still processing the night. Four climaxes with Daphne. Two full charges. The system had confirmed it at three in the morning with the quiet satisfaction of something that had gotten what it asked for.

The hallway smelled of polished marble and faint lemon cleaner. Morning light slanted through high arched windows, catching dust motes in lazy spirals and painting long golden rectangles across the floor. My leg bounced once before I forced it still.

"Have you been avoiding me?" Sherry asked quietly. Her voice was even, but her eyes weren’t.

I looked at her. "No."

"Yesterday I called your name. We locked eyes across the quad and I gestured. You just turned and disappeared into the crowd." She held my stare. "Is something going on, Bram?"

Azure had been walking around as me for two days. Whatever she had done in my face and my body and my general shape had apparently been convincing enough to fool Sherry at a distance but not convincing enough to feel right up close.

"I was unsettled," I said. "Off. I’m good now."

"You need to communicate when that happens." She didn’t drop the subject so much as set it aside for later. "We both know what’s at stake today."

"I’m ready," I said. "Believe me."

The office door opened with a soft click. Sophia Vale stepped out, immaculate in a tailored charcoal suit, carrying nothing on her face about missing family members or forest discoveries or any of the things that had happened three nights ago.

I had heard nothing from any student about Vince being gone. The family was handling it internally. Which was either a relief or a different kind of problem that hadn’t announced itself yet.

"You may come in," Sophia said.

***

Bala was already seated near the director’s desk like a king holding court, broad-shouldered and imposing, his military uniform stretched tight across a frame built for violence.

"Sit," he ordered, no greeting, no pleasantries.

We sat.

"I hope you’re ready," he said.

"Yes," I said.

"Good." His heavy gaze swept over us like a searchlight. "You two are the only ones in this group who’ve tasted the real world outside the life layer. The success of this mission depends on what you know and what you can do when the plan inevitably turns to shit."

He turned to Sophia. "Are they briefed?"

"Basics," she said.

A sharp knock.

"Enter."

Six people came in. May first, who blinked at me when she saw me seated, one quick blink, the specific acknowledgment of someone who has information and is choosing the right moment for it. Then Harmione, which I had not expected, which I absorbed without letting it reach my face.

Four boys I didn’t recognize followed. They took their seats.

Sophia stood and introduced them with the efficiency of someone who had done assessments and arrived at conclusions.

Owen. Bald, muscular, with eerie glowing red eyes that caught the light like fresh blood under glass. Electrical discharge. High level. Those crimson irises looked almost predatory.

Electrical discharge, I thought. Not very different from me. But something about those eyes felt... off. Hungrier.

Speed. Small and wiry, short pink hair, body practically vibrating with restless energy, fingers tapping rapidly on his knee like he was seconds from bolting. Level eight.

Oddo. Stocky, thick-necked bull of a young man with messy dark hair and powerful, corded arms. Built like a walking tank who lived for violence. Level seven, close combat. "He chose himself," Sophia said. "He loves it out there."

"You must all be moonlighting for CGI already," Bala said, and the room laughed in the way rooms laugh when something powerful says something light.

Code. Long, unkempt hair deliberately covering most of his face, the look of someone who preferred to control what others saw first. Level four, blade manifestation. "He volunteered when others wouldn’t," Sophia added. "He says he likes blood."

Bala stared at him a beat longer, cold and assessing.

Harmione. Fire, level six. Sophia introduced her with unexpected warmth. "She’s good."

Then May. Sophia introduced her without naming her ability, which was either oversight or the specific wisdom of someone who had thought about what probability manipulation looked like to a government official trying to plan a controlled mission.

Bala stood.

"This is a mission that matters," he said, voice low and heavy. "To everyone inside these walls, whether they know it or not." He looked at each face. "If any of you aren’t ready, tell me now. No consequences. Tell me now."

Nobody spoke.

"These two are healers." He gestured toward me and Sherry. "They’ve been outside. They know what it is. Listen to them when it counts." He paused. "We’re working with forty Guardians of the Walls. We set off tonight."

Tonight, I thought.

"The infected are less active at night," he continued.

Those are theories, I thought. The plain didn’t get that memo.

"By day we reach the Fallen City. We locate one high level specimen, contain it, and retreat. Tomorrow night you’re back inside the walls."

The Fallen City.

My mother had told me about it. Not a place people went. A place people had been before the walls existed and had never fully left, the city and the infected growing into each other over decades until the distinction between them had blurred.

A different breed, she had said. Faster. More organized. The kind that made level three coordinated infected look like level one stragglers.

"General Sinn takes it from here," Bala said, handing the operational details to someone we hadn’t met yet.

He sat back down. Around me, the students’ eyes gleamed with excitement and nervous energy, shifting in their seats, whispering, treating this like some thrilling field trip instead of a walk into hell.

I looked at Sherry. She looked at me.

They have no idea, her eyes said.

No, mine said back. They don’t.