Yin Lie stopped moving.
That alone was strange.
The pressure ahead of him—constant since the city began tightening—had eased just enough to feel wrong. Not gone. Not safe.
Open.
He had learned to distrust open space.
Open space meant intention.
Kai saw it too.
"Tell me you feel that," she said quietly.
He nodded once.
"They moved the net," he replied.
"And they didn't tell me why."
A Gap Measured in Heartbeats
The corridor ahead of them didn't change shape.
No walls moved. No lights shifted.
But the resistance—the invisible force that delayed every step—thinned. Like a hand loosening its grip without letting go.
Yin Lie took one step forward.
The drift surged—but didn't rebound as hard as before.
His breath hitched.
"…That's new."
Kai's eyes narrowed. "They're letting you through?"
"No," he said slowly.
"They're late."
Instinct Over Strategy
Every part of him screamed not to wait.
He didn't analyze.
Didn't debate.
He moved.
The drift answered immediately, coiling and pushing, tearing pain through his body—but the path held.
For the first time since the city began closing in, he advanced faster than the response behind him.
Kai swore. "Lie, this window is wrong."
"I know," he said.
He pushed harder.
The City Chases Its Own Shadow
Alarms escalated—not fully, but unevenly.
Containment teams redeployed, routing toward projected intercept points that were suddenly… off.
WARNING:
PRIMARY ANOMALY TRAJECTORY DEVIATION
RECALCULATING…
The recalculation lagged.
One point seven seconds.
That was all.
But for someone like Yin Lie—
it was everything.
Pain as Confirmation
His chest burned.
His vision blurred.
Blood ran warm down his throat.
But the drift didn't fold back in on itself like before.
It pushed forward.
This wasn't permission.
This was misalignment.
Someone had tilted the board.
Kai Knows Who Did It
Kai kept pace beside him, weapon ready but unused.
"She's doing something," she said.
Yin Lie didn't answer.
Because he already knew.
The First Barrier That Fails
They reached a junction that should have sealed the moment he approached.
It didn't.
The field shimmered—hesitated—and collapsed into standby mode, letting him pass as if his clearance had briefly existed.
Yin Lie laughed once, harsh and breathless.
"…Thank you," he muttered.
Not to the city.
What He Doesn't See
Far away, in a chamber of smooth walls and quiet lights, Qin Mian screamed silently as pain tore through her spine.
Her Anchor convulsed violently, furious at being forced sideways again.
She curled in on herself, teeth clenched hard enough to crack.
Move, she thought desperately.
While you can.
The City Starts to Notice
"Director," an analyst said slowly.
"Response units are arriving late. Consistently."
The Director leaned forward.
"How late?"
"Between one and two seconds."
Silence.
That wasn't noise.
That was pattern.
Yin Lie Runs the Gap
Yin Lie didn't slow down.
He broke into a run, drift roaring, body screaming in protest as he pushed through space that should have closed around him.
Shots rang out behind him—too late.
Containment fields flared—misplaced.
The city was reacting to where he had been.
Not where he was.
The Cost Begins to Show
His left leg buckled.
He caught himself against the wall, breath tearing free, vision darkening.
Kai grabbed him. "You're burning out."
He shoved himself upright.
"Not yet."
End of the Chapter
Ahead of him—
far too close now—
he felt her.
Not through words.
Through resonance.
Sharp. Fractured. Still fighting.
The path narrowed.
The window would close.
Yin Lie forced his body forward one more time.
Because whether the city liked it or not—
someone had given him a road.
And he was going to reach the end of it.