The rhythmic clatter of train tracks filled the cramped maintenance cabin as the sun slowly began to rise. Dim light trickled through a narrow seam in the metal wall, casting a dull line across Alaric's boots. He sat still, head tilted back, breathing slow and shallow.
Lia dozed beside him, curled in the warmth of his coat, her silver hair damp with sweat and her brows furrowed even in sleep. Despite everything, she hadn't cried once. Not during the chase. Not when the guards had almost caught her. Not even when Marcus appeared.
Alaric watched her for a long moment, guilt gnawing at the edge of his resolve. He wanted to shield her from all of this. From assassins, from betrayal, from whatever this strange world was slowly turning him into. But there was no turning back now. The moment he killed Murdock, his fate was sealed.
Stealth - Proficiency: 4.2%
A faint pulse from the system reminded him that it hadn't forgotten him. That even here, in the dark, it was watching.
New Environment Detected. Urban Tier-Class City: Zenith
Initializing Transition Mode...
He blinked. Transition? But before he could ponder more, the train shuddered slightly, a distant horn sounding. They were approaching the outer ring of the city.
Alaric tapped Lia's shoulder gently. She stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes.
"We're almost there," he said.
She nodded, silently slipping back into alertness. It still amazed him how quickly she adapted. He didn't ask how she felt—neither of them had the luxury of processing emotions anymore. They needed to move. They needed to survive.
The train station at the Zenith outer district was a controlled chaos. Automated loaders moved crates between platforms while security drones patrolled lazily overhead. The place was more advanced than anything Alaric had seen in the slums. Digital billboards blinked incessantly, displaying information in both language and icons, and there were people—clean, focused people—rushing everywhere.
Blending in wasn't going to be easy.
Alaric kept his head down and adjusted his posture, mimicking the hurried gait of the commuters. Lia walked half a step behind him, her face partially hidden beneath her hood. Their first objective was simple: get away from the platform before anyone noticed them.
But even as they exited, Alaric's instincts prickled. Something was off.
He scanned the station subtly. No uniforms, no shouting. But something in the atmosphere felt... wrong. He felt eyes.
Skill Awakening: Danger Sense – Passive
Alaric's skin prickled. He didn't see anyone, but he could feel it—that unmistakable weight of eyes tracking him through the crowd. His jaw clenched as his instincts screamed a silent warning.
"Come on," he murmured, tugging Lia gently. "We need to disappear."
They ducked into a connecting stairwell that led toward the city's tram zone. Once inside a less crowded corridor, Alaric paused.
They couldn't wander aimlessly. They needed shelter—a place to lay low.
The next few hours became a weary crawl through Zenith's lower wards. They checked rundown hostels, scan‑lock cubicles, and overpriced capsule motels—each option either too exposed or far beyond their dwindling funds. As afternoon bled into evening, desperation gnawed at Alaric's resolve.
Just as he considered sleeping in an abandoned tram tunnel, he spotted an old, two‑story building tucked behind a shuttered bakery. Once a grand house, it now bore a hand‑painted sign: Rooms Available – Quiet Tenants Preferred. The façade was cracked brick and faded paint, but iron railings still lined a small balcony on the second floor.
Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of dust and brewing coffee. A broad‑shouldered man with a steel cane—his left leg clearly prosthetic—sat behind a scarred reception desk. His face was weathered, but his eyes missed nothing.
"Looking for a room?" the man rumbled.
Alaric nodded. "Short notice. Cash upfront."
The landlord—Griggs, according to a brass nameplate—tapped ash from a stubby cigar. "Two rules," he said. "Pay on time and keep trouble outside. Third floor's off‑limits. Understood?"
"Understood." Alaric counted out payment from Murdock's stash. Griggs accepted without question, sliding a heavy brass key across.
"Room 2B. End of the hall. Plumbing's temperamental. Walls are thick." A hint of sympathy flickered behind the gruff tone as he noticed Lia's exhaustion. "Kid'll sleep fine. Bed's not straw."
Alaric thanked him quietly and guided Lia up a narrow wooden staircase. The hallway creaked, lit by a single bulb dangling from exposed wiring. Room 2B opened to a modest studio—aged hardwood floors, a small kitchenette with mismatched cabinets, and a tall window looking onto a dim courtyard. A single bed dominated one corner, its frame solid oak and the mattress surprisingly springy.
Compared to the slums, it felt regal.
Lia ran a hand across clean sheets, eyes shining. "It's soft," she whispered, half in disbelief. She pressed the pillow, then flopped onto the mattress with a giggle that warmed Alaric's chest.
He tested the window latch—secure—and did a quick circuit, noting potential exits. Satisfied, he finally allowed himself to breathe.
A soft knock drew his attention. Opening the door a crack, he found a petite woman balancing a tray of baked rolls.
"Hi! I'm Yuna—2A," she chirped. "Saw new faces. Figured you might be hungry."
Alaric hesitated, but Lia was already at his side, eyes wide at the fresh bread smell. He accepted the tray.
"Thank you," he said cautiously.
Yuna's smile widened. "Griggs keeps to himself, but the rest of us are friendly—mostly night workers. If you need tips on cheap markets or safe routes, just knock." With a conspiratorial wink, she added, "City's full of shortcuts if you know where to look."
After she left, Lia devoured a roll, cheeks puffed happily. The simple kindness eased some of Alaric's tension. Maybe, he thought, allies could be found even here.
They ate in companionable silence, the city's distant hum seeping through the window. When night finally settled, Lia curled beneath the blanket without protest. Alaric sat at the small table, planning next steps—job boards, false papers, and how to disappear in a metropolis of ten million.
Yet, despite plans swirling, he couldn't shake an unease. Danger Sense pulsed faintly—a low thrum of distant eyes. Marcus? Or something else? Either way, Zenith's calm was only surface‑deep.
Alaric slid under the covers, the mattress enveloping him in unfamiliar softness. Lia murmured, half‑asleep, "Feels like clouds." He managed a tired smile.
They slept—truly slept—for the first time since leaving the slums, unaware that threads were already weaving around them.