The next day, the factory was different.
Keiran felt it the moment he stepped inside.
Keiran knew something was wrong the moment he stepped through the factory gates.
The air was heavy. Not with the usual suffocating heat of metal and oil, but something worse—something unseen.
The workers moved differently. Their shoulders hunched, their heads bowed lower than usual. They didn't speak, didn't exchange quiet jokes or complaints. Even the sound of the machines—normally a deafening, rhythmic symphony—felt distant.
And the guards?
They were everywhere.
Before, they had patrolled lazily, only stepping in when someone slowed down too much. Now, they watched. Their eyes followed every movement, fingers twitching near their batons.
And standing above them, on the iron walkway, arms folded across his chest—
Kennedy.
He wasn't just watching the workers. He was watching Keiran.
For the entire shift, Kennedy didn't look away.
Keiran forced himself to focus. One movement at a time. One breath at a time.
He kept his expression neutral, his posture normal. But inside—he knew.
Kennedy was onto him.
The shift dragged on, each second stretching longer than it should. Keiran counted down the hours, waiting for the final whistle that would send them back to town.
But instead—
A sharp screech rang from the overhead speakers.
Every worker flinched.
Then—
Armon's voice.
"Tomorrow night, a new selection begins."
Silence.
Not a breath. Not a movement.
The words settled like a funeral bell.
Keiran felt the change in the room immediately.
The workers stopped.
Some went pale. Others gripped their tools until their knuckles turned white. No one spoke.
Vael's head slowly turned toward Keiran. Selara's lips pressed into a thin line.
Keiran's pulse quickened.
Selection?
His gaze swept across the factory floor. The way the older workers clenched their jaws, the way the younger ones shook.
This wasn't new.
They had heard this before.
Keiran's chest tightened. What does that mean? What happens to the ones who are selected?
No one dared to ask.
The machines didn't stop. But the people—they weren't really there anymore.
And Keiran?
Keiran had a feeling—
Something horrible was coming.
When the shift ended, the workers were marched back to town like they always were.
But this time, there were twice as many guards.
No one whispered. No one dared to speak.
Even the children—normally restless and tired—were silent.
Keiran's mind raced.
"A new selection."
It wasn't just a threat. It was a promise.
And the people here knew exactly what it meant.
Keiran clenched his fists. He couldn't let this happen.
Whatever the selection was, whatever was coming—
They had to act.
The sun had barely begun to set when they heard the engines.
Keiran, Vael, and Selara were in Keiran's apartment, deep in planning, when the first roaring sound reached them.
They froze.
Outside—
A convoy.
Not the usual factory trucks. These were armored vehicles.
Keiran moved to the window, heart pounding.
People were gathering in the streets, whispers spreading like wildfire.
Then, from the largest truck, he stepped out.
Armon.
He didn't wear the usual factory coat today. Instead, he was clad in a dark, military-style jacket, the sleeves pushed up to reveal scarred forearms. A rifle rested easily in his grip, like it was nothing more than an extension of his arm.
Beside him—
Kennedy.
And behind them—
The guards. More than usual.
The town's fear thickened.
Then—
Armon spoke.
"I gave you all a warning."
His voice was calm. Controlled.
"And yet, it seems we still have a rat among us."
Keiran's blood ran cold.
Selara's fingers dug into her arms. Vael clenched his fists.
"A rat that refuses to show itself." Armon exhaled, shaking his head. "It's a shame, really."
Then, he raised a hand.
The guards dragged three people forward.
Three strangers. Workers. People who had nothing to do with this.
The crowd stiffened. A woman gasped. A child cried out.
But no one moved.
Armon tilted his head, almost disappointed.
"If the rat won't come forward," he murmured, raising his rifle, "I'll make an example instead."
Keiran couldn't move.
His muscles locked. His breath caught.
He knew what was about to happen.
He knew that if he did anything—everything would fall apart.
But then—
"No."
It was a whisper.
Not loud. Not sharp.
But Vael heard it.
Keiran saw the slight twitch of Vael's fingers.
And before Keiran could stop him—
A flicker.
A tiny ember, curling at the tip of Vael's finger.
Then—
A shot.
Not from Armon.
From Vael.
A streak of fire ripped through the air. Small—barely anything—but enough.
It slammed into Armon's rifle.
The gun jerked. The shot went wide.
Screams. Chaos.
The town erupted.
The prisoners collapsed in shock. The guards moved. Armon took half a step back.
And in that second—
The door to Keiran's apartment burst open.
A shadow swept into the room.
Asheron.
His coat billowed as he moved, his golden eyes burning with something Keiran had never seen before.
He grabbed Vael by the collar, slamming him into the wall.
"You idiot."
His voice was low. Dangerous.
Vael gasped, eyes wide. The room felt colder.
Keiran moved. "Let him go—"
Asheron ignored him.
"Do you have any idea what you just did?" Asheron's grip tightened.
Vael gritted his teeth. "He was going to—"
"And now you've made sure he won't stop looking until he finds you."
Asheron released him, stepping back.
"Get your things. Now."
Selara spoke first. "Why? Where are we—"
Asheron turned to Keiran. Expression unreadable.
"You don't have a choice anymore."
Outside—
The streets were on fire.
"Go."
Asheron's voice was sharp. Urgent.
"Get out of here. Now."
Keiran barely had time to think before Asheron shoved him toward the door.
Vael stumbled forward, still wide-eyed, his chest rising and falling too fast.
"Where—" Selara started.
"Anywhere but here," Asheron cut in. His golden eyes flickered toward the window.
Below, guards were already moving. The factory workers had scattered, but Armon's men were closing in.
The building would be surrounded in minutes.
"Go to Selara's room. Keep low. Move fast."
Keiran clenched his fists. "But you—"
Asheron turned to face him fully.
And in that moment—
Keiran saw something in his expression.
Something final.
"You may have the key, but do you have the door kei"
Then, without waiting—he moved.
Not toward the exit.
Toward the window.
Keiran, Vael, and Selara didn't look back.
They ran.
Down the hall, ducking low. Their shadows flickered under the dim lanterns.
Keiran's breath was steady. His mind—not.
Behind them, the guards stormed the building.
Footsteps. Shouting. Doors kicked open.
But the trio was already slipping into Selara's apartment, silent.
Keiran moved to the window. Peered out.
And then—his stomach dropped.
The guards had reached his room.
The door burst open.
But inside—
Only Asheron.
He sat on the edge of Keiran's bed, legs crossed, arms draped over his knees like he had been waiting.
Golden eyes met the guards.
And Asheron smiled.
"Took you long enough."
The guards rushed him.
He didn't fight.
Didn't move.
Didn't even resist as they grabbed him, wrenched his arms behind his back, and dragged him from the room.
Keiran's hands tightened on the windowsill.
Vael exhaled sharply. "He let them take him."
Selara's voice was barely a whisper. "Why?"
Keiran watched as they pulled Asheron toward the armored truck.
His mind raced.
This wasn't a loss.
This wasn't over.
This was—
A move.
And Asheron had just played his part.
Keiran's jaw set.
"We're getting him back."