They start to disappear at night.
Not in waves.
One at a time.
First, Reen, the kid from Tech Lab who repaired all the busted vents. Then Daya, who'd carved our symbol onto the solar panel of the gym. Then Jilo, who'd mapped out all the blackout tunnels and handed them out like candy.
No sounds. No alarms. No bodies.
Just nothing.
They're not taken in.
They're not scooped up.
They've vanished.
And we all know what that means.
By morning, the base is still in a way that's wrong.
Not with fear—hollow.
Still, there are humans moving.
Still, there are humans eating.
Still, there are humans running updates and making plans and writing encrypted messages on the bathroom stalls.
But the flame is flickering.
And I can feel it.
In my bones.
In my glyphs.
In the way no one glances at me when I walk by.
Lio finally pushes me back in the stairwell outside the eastern sub-hub.
"You need to talk."
"I did talk," I snarl.
"Not like that," he says to me. "They need you. Not a slogan. Not a signal. You."
I stare at him too long.
He blows out.
"It's not your fault, Sera. But if you go dark now, everything they've given us starts to slide."
I don't speak.
I don't blame him.
I blame the fact that I know he is right.
In the pit, Nessa's already halfway through her briefing.
"We're getting word that Strata's deploying an elite recovery unit. Not students. Not agents. Old Guardian class."
I freeze.
The Guardian Corps was disbanded after the last rebellion. These are not teachers and guards—they're the ones that toppled entire cities before they collapsed.
"ETA?"
"Three days."
My glyphs burn a little harder.
We improvise.
Miko redeploys thermal sensor nodes to fire decoys.
Jin works with the grid kids on the energy to rig echo flares that can't be traced.
We start rotating sleep.
Rotating watches.
Rotating faces.
Because the more obvious I get, the more dangerous it is—to them.
So I start hiding again.
Not to stay small.
To protect the ones who never got a chance to be loud.
It's Lio who finds the note.
Taped underneath his bunk.
One word, in block letters:
"Decoy."
He reads it twice.
Then drops it on the table.
"They've infiltrated."
Lockdown is quick.
Lights in the command pit go out at 2:47 AM.
Doors shut.
Vent fans reverse.
Not power failure.
Forced containment.
Nessa slams her hand on the override and spits, "Someone sold us out."
Miko runs to the backup generator.
Jin prepares her weapon.
I don't move.
I just listen.
Boots outside metal walls.
Not a school issue.
Not enforcer-grade.
Guardian.
We leave in silence.
Tunnels Miko dug for emergencies only.
We crawl through steel veins and powdered ducts, sore eyes from the heat of exhaust.
When we emerge, we're in Sector Seven—years derelict, all power diverted. The only light here is our own.
It's enough.
Temporary.
That night, we huddle around once more.
Fewer in this number.
More shadow.
I sit on the edge of the circle as Nessa figures out the next routes and Lio double-checks faces.
I don't help.
I just watch.
Because for the first time since this started, I know it:
The weight of leadership.
Not the limelight.
The price.
Later, Jin pulls me aside.
She doesn't talk at first.
Then she says, "I saw your face when you found out about the Guardian team."
I shrug. "I'm not scared."
"No," she says. "But you should be."
I look at her.
"Because they don't come to win," she says. "They come to the end."
I awaken the next morning to a dozen messages.
Some are from students we've never seen—those hiding in the lower city who say they're ready to come out.
Others from ghosts.
Old teachers.
Past agents.
Even a technician from the old Conduit archives.
They've seen what I've done.
And they're coming.
At noon, I stand again.
Not before a screen.
Not atop a rooftop.
In person.
Face-to-face with all the surviving students still willing to be seen with me.
The courtyard is broken, singed by drone fire, and bannerless—but full of breath.
"Some of us are afraid," I begin.
No one flinches.
"And some of us are dead."
That causes a few faces to drop.
"But all of us are still standing. And as long as we're here, this never gets finished."
I don't scream.
I don't cry.
I just finished.
"They can take names. They can take numbers. But they can't take what we become."
There's evening on the rooftop.
Miko awaits me.
She has a piece of metal in her palm.
Off a Guardian's uniform.
"We caught one," she says to me.
"They're nearby?"
She nods.
"Good," I say to her.
"Why?"
I look at her.
Because if they're near
It means they're afraid too.