Qin Mian's foot stopped halfway forward.
The city felt it.
The containment field hummed—low, patient, expectant—like something holding its breath.
"State your decision," the system said calmly.
"Compliance will reduce strain on the primary anomaly."
Yin Lie was on one knee now.
Blood dripped from his mouth to the floor, dark against the pale concrete. The drift inside him slammed again and again against the invisible barrier, each rebound folding pain back into his body.
"Don't," he rasped.
"Don't answer them."
Qin Mian didn't look at him.
If she did, she wouldn't be able to do this.
The Shape of the Lie
She inhaled slowly.
Forced her heartbeat to settle.
Let the Anchor rise—not fully, not honestly—but just enough for the city to see it.
Her shoulders slumped.
Her posture softened.
Submission, carefully constructed.
"…I understand," she said quietly.
The words tasted wrong.
"I'll cooperate."
The system paused.
Not long—but long enough to confirm it had heard.
COMPLIANCE INDICATED.
REDUCING LOAD ON PRIMARY ANOMALY.
The pressure on Yin Lie eased immediately.
Not gone.
But less.
He gasped, breath tearing back into his lungs.
"…Qin Mian," he whispered.
Why Yin Lie Knows It's Wrong
He lifted his head slowly.
Something about her felt… off.
The resonance between them didn't soften.
It didn't settle.
It stayed sharp.
Like a held breath pretending to relax.
"She's lying," he realized.
Not to him.
To them.
The City Believes What It Wants To
The barrier between them flickered—not gone, but thinning.
Lights brightened slightly.
Extraction routes recalculated.
"Proceed to marked corridor," the system instructed Qin Mian.
"Remain calm. Further resistance is unnecessary."
She nodded once.
"Yes."
She took one step back.
Then another.
Each movement deliberate.
Controlled.
Her Anchor flickered again—just enough to sell it.
The Cost of the Performance
Inside, her body screamed.
The strain she had been holding surged violently as she loosened her stance, pain ripping through her chest and spine.
Her vision blurred.
She nearly fell.
But she kept her head lowered.
Weak.
Compliant.
Perfect.
Across the Barrier
Yin Lie pushed himself upright, shaking.
"Qin Mian," he said urgently.
"Stop."
She didn't look at him.
If she did, he would see it.
And he would break everything to stop her.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Not to the city.
To him.
What the City Misses
The city tracked posture.
Tone.
Physiological markers.
It did not track intent.
It logged:
Reduced resistance
Anchor engagement within acceptable parameters
Subject compliance probability increasing
It missed the one thing that mattered.
Qin Mian was not giving in.
She was buying time.
The Lie Tightens
"Distance from primary anomaly increasing," the system reported.
"Risk decreasing."
The Director watched the feed.
"Interesting," she murmured.
"She chose survival."
She didn't see Qin Mian's fingers digging into her palm hard enough to draw blood.
The Last Look
Just before the corridor geometry fully turned, Qin Mian finally glanced back.
Her eyes met Yin Lie's.
For half a second, the resonance spiked—sharp, bright, unmistakably alive.
Trust me, she sent without words.
Just for a moment longer.
Yin Lie froze.
Then—slowly—he nodded.
Once.
End of the Chapter
The barrier slid fully into place.
Qin Mian disappeared down the extraction corridor, footsteps unsteady but controlled.
The city relaxed.
The system logged SUCCESSFUL DE-ESCALATION.
Yin Lie stood alone, bloodied, shaking—but breathing.
He stared at the empty space where she had been.
"She lied," he said quietly.
Kai looked at him.
"To save you," she replied.
Yin Lie closed his eyes.
The drift inside him coiled—silent, furious, focused.
"Then I have exactly one job left," he said.
The city thought it had its answer.
It was wrong.