The morning sun cast a pale glow over the streets as Keiran, Vael, and Selara gathered near the apartment. Keiran exhaled sharply. "Alright, let's get started, shall we?"
He then addressed the first order of business—choosing a base where they could gather information and form a plan. Vael immediately suggested Keiran's apartment, given that Keiran was the leader of Series 16 and Selara was already staying in the same building. Selara agreed without hesitation.
They made their way to Keiran's room. As soon as they stepped inside, Keiran locked the door behind them. Vael took a seat on the chair, while Selara sat on the bed, her sharp gaze shifting between the two. Keiran didn't waste time.
"The factory has a tunnel beneath it," he revealed, glancing at Selara. "She told me about it yesterday."
Vael's eyes narrowed in surprise. "A tunnel?"
Keiran nodded. "It was used to transport us in. The next batch of children will be coming in about a month. That could be our way out."
Vael exhaled, processing the information, then leaned forward. "That's good… but if we want a real shot at escaping, I need to test something first."
He lifted his hand and let a flicker of flame dance across his palm. Selara's eyes widened in shock.
Vael clenched his fist, extinguishing the fire. "This isn't normal fire. It doesn't just burn—it consumes."
Selara's expression turned wary. "What do you mean?"
Vael strode toward the window, pulled a small scrap of metal from his pocket, and tossed it onto the street below. He extended a hand. "Burn."
Flames erupted, devouring the metal. But they didn't go out. The metal melted away, reducing to nothing.
Selara stiffened. "If you can't control that, we'll die before we even get a chance to escape."
Keiran studied the embers below with a calculating gaze. "Can you control it?"
Vael turned to them, his expression firm. "I'll learn."
Keiran nodded. "Then for now, we observe. We need to understand this factory, its security, its weaknesses. Every little detail could be the difference between life and death."
Vael folded his arms. "That reminds me… Yesterday, I saw you watching Armon. Did you find something?"
Keiran's expression darkened. "He was holding a letter. He looked furious. Then he left in a high-class vehicle."
Vael and Selara exchanged a glance.
"Whatever it was," Keiran continued, "it must've been serious. We need to be careful."
A tense silence settled between them before Keiran finally broke it. "We're going to do this. We're going to escape this hell."
Outside the door, unseen to them, Asheron stood in the hallway, a quiet smile playing on his lips as he listened in.
Hours later, inside the factory, Keiran moved like any other worker, his expression unreadable. When the moment was right, he cast a glance toward Vael and gave a subtle nod.
Vael understood immediately. He walked over to a guard, feigning urgency. "Bathroom break?"
The guard barely glanced at him before waving him off. Vael slipped away, making sure not to draw attention.
Instead of heading toward the bathrooms, he veered left and entered a room. The moment he stepped inside, he froze. Unlike the filth and decay of the factory, this space was pristine—lavish even. A stark contrast to the rotting surroundings.
He scanned the room quickly. A polished desk, bookshelves lined with documents… and on the wall, a key holder filled with various keys.
Vael's pulse quickened. He didn't have time to grab anything—not yet. His two-minute window was almost up. He memorized the layout before slipping out just as quietly as he had entered. Returning to his station, he gave Keiran a subtle, assured look. Keiran barely nodded. Now it was his turn.
Keiran waited for the right moment, then approached a guard. "Bathroom?"
Granted permission, he moved carefully—this time heading toward the stairway. Slipping past unnoticed, he found himself in a storage-like area cluttered with various objects. But what caught his attention was the board pinned with multiple pages.
Without hesitation, he pulled several of them free and tucked them into his clothes. Then, just as quickly, he made his way back before anyone noticed his absence.
By evening, the three of them reconvened in Keiran's apartment.
Vael was the first to speak. "I found something. A room. A rich, well-maintained office."
"In this rotting place?" Selara frowned.
Vael nodded. "And there was a key holder with multiple keys."
Keiran's eyes sharpened. "One of them could be for the tunnel."
Then, pulling the stolen papers from his clothes, he laid them out before them. "I grabbed these from a board behind the stairs."
They all leaned in, scanning the pages. Vael picked up one, frowning. "This one details factory production records… how much is needed per month."
Selara examined another. Her breath hitched. "A list of names… The children." She counted quickly. "Forty. There were forty of us."
Keiran sifted through the remaining pages until his eyes landed on one that sent a chill down his spine.
"The arrival of the first batch," he murmured. "Forty children."
His eyes drifted lower. His stomach clenched.
Then suddenly The room trembled—not from the walls, not from the ground, but from the sudden, deafening crack of gunfire.
The sharp bangs of revolvers shattered the air like lightning striking the earth. The distant murmur of townspeople vanished. The clatter of carts, the soft hum of workers moving through the streets—all of it was gone. The silence that followed was a void, suffocating and absolute.
Keiran's breath caught in his throat. He felt the weight of it before he even looked.
Vael and Selara were already staring out the window, their faces pale, their bodies rigid.
Keiran turned his head slowly, heart pounding, and there he was.
Armon.
Standing at the entrance of the town, his guards surrounding him like hounds awaiting a command. The barrels of their revolvers still smoked, thin wisps curling into the cold morning air.
The people had stopped—every single one of them. Merchants, workers, factory supervisors, even children. Their heads were lowered, their eyes fixed on the ground, their bodies unmoving as if they had turned to stone.
It was as if the entire town had been placed under an unspoken law of silence.
And then Keiran saw it.
Armon's face.
He wasn't just angry.
He was seething.
His usually composed expression was carved into something vicious. His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes like frozen steel—sharp, cutting, and merciless. Every step he took forward felt like a noose tightening around the town's throat.
Keiran's pulse hammered in his ears.
Something had gone wrong.
Something had pushed this man—a man who ruled with cruelty yet always with control—into a rage so palpable it infected the very air.
A voice in Keiran's mind whispered a single truth:
When men like Armon are angry… people die.