The silence after the crash felt unreal.
Wind swept across the broken terrain, carrying smoke, ash, and the distant echo of alarms from the derailed train far behind them. Fires burned along the horizon like open wounds, marking the path they had torn through the world.
Qin Mian was still kneeling beside Yin Lie.
He was alive.
That alone felt impossible.
His breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale dragging like it had to fight its way in. Ice veins remained etched across his skin, no longer spreading—but not fading either.
Permanent.
She pressed her forehead against his chest, listening.
One breath.
Then another.
"…Don't leave me," she whispered, not knowing if he could hear her.
The Cost Settles In
Yin Lie opened his eyes slowly.
The sky looked wrong.
Too wide.
Too distant.
For a moment he didn't know where he was—or when.
Then pain arrived.
Not in one place.
Everywhere.
He tried to move his left hand.
Nothing happened.
He didn't react.
Panic would waste energy he didn't have.
"…How long?" he asked quietly.
Kai checked her scanner, jaw tight.
"Thirty seconds unconscious," she said. "Longer than last time."
He nodded once.
That told him everything.
Qin Mian Breaks First
She couldn't stop shaking.
Her Anchor felt wrong—fractured, unstable, pulsing in uneven beats that made her chest ache. Every time she tried to pull it inward, fragments scraped against each other like broken teeth.
"They won't stop," she said hoarsely.
"They'll keep doing this. Over and over."
Yin Lie turned his head slightly to look at her.
"I know."
That scared her more than anything else.
The World Adjusts
Far above them, unseen satellites altered tracking parameters.
The train was marked as acceptable loss.
Civilian presence was reclassified as secondary risk.
Predictive models updated with new data points:
Yin Lie's mobility limitations
Qin Mian's unstable Anchor output
Kai's tactical patterns
The hunt did not pause.
It refined.
No Time to Grieve
Kai stood, scanning the terrain.
"We can't stay," she said. "They'll triangulate the impact zone."
Qin Mian looked around helplessly.
"There's nothing here."
"That's why we move," Kai replied. "Empty places still show footprints."
She turned to Yin Lie.
"Can you walk?"
He tested his legs.
Pain screamed.
His left side lagged, barely responsive, but ice locked the structure together just enough.
"Yes," he said.
Not strong.
But honest.
A New Kind of Fear
They moved through the ruins slowly, avoiding open ground, using broken terrain as cover. Each step hurt. Each breath felt borrowed.
Qin Mian stayed close to Yin Lie, terrified of touching him too hard, terrified of letting go.
"Lie," she said quietly.
"If it gets worse… if I lose control again—"
He stopped.
Turned toward her fully.
"You won't," he said.
She shook her head, tears forming.
"You don't know that."
"I do," he replied. "Because if you start to fall—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
She understood.
And that understanding terrified her.
The First Sign They're Being Studied
Kai froze suddenly, raising her fist.
"Stop."
They did.
She crouched, examining the ground.
"No drones," she muttered. "No trackers."
Then her expression changed.
"…No pursuit."
Qin Mian's stomach dropped.
"That's bad, isn't it?"
Kai nodded slowly.
"They're not chasing."
She looked up at the sky.
"They're waiting."
The Truth Sinks In
Yin Lie felt it then.
Not danger.
Interest.
The same kind of pressure he'd felt just before the city escalated—when it stopped reacting and started thinking.
"They want to see what we do next," he said quietly.
Qin Mian hugged herself.
"So what do we do?"
Yin Lie looked ahead, eyes dark, calculating paths that didn't exist yet.
"We stop running blindly," he said.
Kai glanced at him sharply.
"And do what?"
He took another step forward, ignoring the pain screaming through his spine.
"We choose where the next fight happens."
End of the Chapter
Behind them, smoke marked their escape.
Above them, the world recalculated.
They were wounded.
They were slower.
They were still alive.
And now, the hunt had changed.
It was no longer about catching them.
It was about understanding them—
before deciding how much of the world
it was willing to burn
to make sure they never moved again.