They were moved fast.
Not rushed—controlled. The kind of movement that didn't allow panic to fully bloom, but never gave space to breathe either. The restraints hummed softly around Keith's wrists, thin bands of metal biting just enough to remind him they were there. Every few seconds, a faint pulse ran through them, syncing to something he couldn't see.
The streets changed as they were dragged deeper.
The lamps grew fewer. The buildings leaned closer together, their walls stained with old grime and newer blood. This wasn't a public holding route. No stalls, no apartments, no passersby pretending not to look. Just sealed doors and blank stone.
Keith focused on walking.
On not drawing attention.
On not letting whatever faint pressure inside him leak out.
Beside him, the girl walked with her head lowered, shoulders tense but controlled. Not shaking. Not resisting. That alone told him enough—she'd learned, like him, that survival sometimes meant appearing smaller than you were.
They were pushed through a reinforced door and down a narrow stairwell. The air grew damp, heavy with the smell of iron and disinfectant that couldn't quite mask rot. The lights overhead flickered irregularly, casting the guards' shadows long and warped against the walls.
This wasn't a mistake.
This was a filter.
People who tripped system alerts didn't always get questioned. Sometimes they just… vanished. Keith had heard the rumors during his first days in the realm—workers who missed shifts, beggars who disappeared after curfew, offenders who never showed up in the public records again.
The system didn't erase people
.
It reassigned them.
They reached the bottom.
A large chamber opened up before them, its ceiling lost in darkness. Rows of metal cages lined the walls, some occupied, some empty. The ones that weren't empty were worse. Bodies slumped against bars. Eyes dull. Some breathing shallow. Some not at all.
Keith felt his stomach tighten.
This wasn't prison.
It was inventory.
A man waited at the center of the chamber, coat long and immaculate, boots untouched by grime. He didn't look at Keith or the girl at first. Instead, he examined a slate hovering in front of him, eyes scanning lines of data with bored efficiency.
"Synchronization anomaly," he muttered. "Two subjects. No prior registration."
He finally looked up.
Keith met his gaze for half a second—then immediately dropped it.
The man smiled anyway.
"Unregistered irregulars," he said calmly. "My favorite kind. No paperwork delays."
A hand gesture.
The restraints tightened.
Pain lanced through Keith's arms—not enough to knock him unconscious, but enough to make his knees buckle. He caught himself before he fell. Somewhere nearby, someone screamed.
"Good," he said. "They still react."
They were seperated after that.
Keith was dragged toward one of the inner cages, the door screeching open before he was thrown inside. He hit the floor hard, breath knocked from his lungs. The bars slammed shut behind him, locking with a dull mechanical click.
From the corner of his vision, he saw the girl being pulled the opposite direction.
For the first time since they met, something sharp flickered across her face.
It was anger.
The lights dimmed.
Somewhere above, machinery began to move—chains sliding, mechanisms awakening, something heavy being prepared.
Keith forced himself to breathe slowly.
Whatever this place was, it wasn't meant to kill them quickly.
Which meant it was meant to break them first.
And that, he realized grimly, was the real accident.