They stopped only when the air changed.
The maintenance shaft narrowed, walls close enough that Taylor could feel their chill through his clothes. The hum of the city faded into something thinner, more distant. Here, the system’s presence felt reduced—not gone, just muted, like a hand resting lightly on the back of his neck instead of gripping his throat.
She sealed the hatch behind them and waited.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Taylor became acutely aware of himself: his breathing, too loud; his hands, half-curled as if expecting instructions. He resisted the urge to fill the silence. Something told him silence was the point.
Finally, she said, “You followed faster than I expected.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t want to go back.”
Her eyes stayed on him. Sharp. Evaluating. “To what?”
He hesitated, then surprised himself. “Nothing.”
The word hung between them.
She studied him like a flawed instrument. “People who say that usually mean everything.”
“I don’t,” he said. “Everything works. That’s the problem.”
A flicker—interest, maybe—crossed her face and vanished. “Careful,” she said. “That kind of thinking gets people flagged.”
“I know.”
That earned him a longer look.
“How?”
He exhaled slowly. “I saw a log that shouldn’t exist.”
She didn’t react. Not visibly. But the air felt tighter.
“Describe it.”
“I can’t,” he said. “Not properly. It was… empty. Like the system forgot to lie.”
Her jaw set.
“You don’t have the clearance for that level,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then someone made a mistake.”
“Or something broke.”
Silence again.
She stepped closer. Not threatening. Intimate. “Listen to me carefully,” she said. “Curiosity is not neutral. It feels harmless because the system taught you that it is. But it’s not. It’s a weight. And once you pick it up, it doesn’t let go.”
Taylor met her gaze. “Is that what happened to you?”
Her eyes hardened. “Don’t.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“You are,” she said. “You just don’t know it yet.”
The lights flickered once overhead.
They both noticed.
Her voice dropped. “It’s already recalculating,” she said. “Which means this conversation has an expiration date.”
Taylor’s chest tightened. “Then tell me what I should do.”
She shook her head. “No. That’s how you end up obedient. You need to decide who you are before the system does it for you.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“That,” she said quietly, “is the most dangerous answer you could give.”
Another flicker. Longer this time.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, matte device—unmarked: no lights, no interface.
“This stays off unless I say otherwise,” she said, pressing it into his hand. “If you turn it on alone, it will find you. Not maybe. Will.”
“What is it?”
“A door,” she said. “And a test.”
“A test for what?”
She paused, just long enough for him to feel the weight of it.
“Whether you’re worth the trouble,” she said.
The hum around them surged, then receded.
She stepped back toward the opposite hatch. “We don’t move together again for a while,” she said. “If you’re followed, you’re on your own.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then you’ll come looking for me,” she said. “People like you always do.”
She keyed the hatch.
Before stepping through, she added, without looking back, “One more thing.”
He waited.
“You weren’t supposed to see what you saw,” she said. “That means either the system failed… or it wanted you to.”
The hatch closed.
Taylor stood alone in the narrow shaft, the device heavy in his palm.
For the first time, the silence felt earned.