The inner corridor did not resemble the rest of W-03.
The industrial edges softened into smooth composite walls. The lighting shifted from utility white to a cooler, diffuse glow. Even the sound of his steps changed, absorbed instead of echoed.
Tae-Hyun moved through it with a borrowed cart and a neutral expression, his new clearance band unlocking doors that had remained sealed since his arrival.
He passed two security checkpoints.
Both were automated.
Both scanned more than identity.
Temperature.
Pulse variance.
Neural conductivity.
Each pause felt longer than it needed to be.
Then the final door slid open.
And the hum inside him deepened.
The inner wing unfolded in layered spaces rather than straight halls. Walkways curved around open cores where light filtered down from higher levels he could not see. Transparent partitions separated observation decks from contained environments. Unlike Sector E, this area did not hide its function.
This was where processes were shaped.
Rooms lined the central structure, but fewer were occupied by beds.
Most held frameworks.
Circular platforms.
Suspended neural arrays.
Bio-reactive conduits threading through translucent columns.
He slowed his pace, allowing the cart's wheels to dictate his rhythm.
The presence he'd felt sharpened.
It led him.
He passed a glass wall where three figures stood observing a wide chamber below. Their coats were a deeper gray, their identification bands edged in black.
One of them spoke quietly. "The last cycle nearly destabilized the host."
A woman replied, "Because the external field interfered."
"The anomaly?" the first asked.
"Yes. Something responded that shouldn't exist inside the closed system."
Tae-Hyun continued past them.
Their voices followed him only briefly before fading into architecture.
He turned into a side corridor.
And saw her.
Eun-chae stood inside a circular containment space bounded by a low, luminous barrier. The room held fewer machines than E-17 had. Instead, thin filaments of light moved slowly through the air around her, tracing arcs that shifted with her breath.
She was on her feet.
Wearing a light training garment rather than a patient's gown.
Her posture was steady.
Alert.
A headset curved along her temple, faint pulses of light traveling its length.
Two technicians adjusted a console near the wall.
She lifted her head.
Her gaze found him instantly.
Recognition passed between them like a current.
He didn't stop.
Didn't stare.
He pushed the cart toward the sanitation dock built into the outer edge of the space, his movements unremarkable to anyone watching.
But the hum inside him gathered.
She turned slightly, aligning her body toward the glass.
Her lips moved.
He caught the words without sound.
"They brought me closer."
"Are you alright?" he murmured, not sure if he spoke aloud.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the technicians.
Then back.
"They're testing responsiveness," she said. "The array without sedation."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I stay awake," she replied. "And whatever answers… I feel."
His jaw set.
"What are they asking?" he said.
Her gaze drifted for a moment, following one of the moving light filaments.
"Structure," she said. "Containment. How much I can hold without distortion."
The hum inside him reacted.
He felt the shape of the space more clearly now. The faint oscillation of the field around her. The way the inner wing's systems oriented subtly toward her position.
She wasn't only a subject.
She was a center.
"They're preparing you," he said.
"Yes."
"For integration."
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"I don't think it's a single system anymore," she added. "They're aligning multiple biological patterns. Looking for something that can host them all."
He watched the way her hands moved slightly at her sides, fingers flexing as if responding to sensations no one else could perceive.
"Why you?" he asked.
Her gaze softened.
"Because my nervous system doesn't reject the noise," she said. "It organizes it."
The words settled deeply.
He felt the truth of them in the way the hum oriented itself around her.
A technician approached her with a small device.
She turned her head slightly, allowing him to adjust it behind her ear.
Her expression tightened briefly.
Then smoothed.
"I won't be able to speak much after this," she said quietly. "They're extending the session."
"For how long?"
She didn't answer.
The technician stepped away.
The filaments brightened.
The barrier around her platform intensified.
She met his gaze once more.
"Stay near," she said.
It wasn't a request.
It was a recognition.
"I am," he replied.
He pushed the cart into position.
Began his assigned work.
To any observer, he was a man wiping a surface.
But inside him, the hum had already reached outward, aligning not with the architecture…
but with her.
And somewhere deeper within the inner wing, systems began adjusting to an influence they had not designed.