It had been two days since the group had gone to ground. In that time, Janet—still Sasha behind the disguise—had returned from scavenging trips with two changes of clothes apiece and a small cache of canned goods, protein bars, and sterilized water. For most, it was the first taste of normalcy since the lab.
With nothing else to do, the Conduits talked. Bonds formed out of proximity and shared pain. Elliot had taken to shadowing Jason. Rachel observed everything in silence. Marissa slowly became the group's heart—emotional, loud, always reaching outward.
From the rooftop, Sasha watched the city through scavenged binoculars. She leaned over the edge, zeroing in on patrol patterns along the west side of the Historic District. Using a DARPA uplink that they stole when infiltrating the Historic District. She had it clipped to her jacket, she tracked comm frequencies and location pings.
"Movement near the western checkpoint," she muttered into the headset. "DARPA cycling platoons. Less foot patrols, more First Son drones sighted. They're tightening focus."
"And across the river?" Damian asked from the doorway.
Sasha adjusted the lens. "Dust Men are rallying. They've got old barricades lining the Warren's entrance. Fires burning. Looks like they're prepping for something big."
Damian narrowed his eyes. "Any sign of Cole?"
Sasha pointed. "There. Look for the flickers."
Through the haze and wreckage, Damian's eagle eyes saw bolts of white-blue light lit the skyline. Rapid. Controlled. Too clean to be any tech malfunction.
"He's there," Sasha said. "And we should expect a window to open soon."
Downstairs, the Conduits gathered around a cracked table lit by natural light. Grace was sketching a mental map in the dirt, showing movement patterns and fallback routes. Jason leaned in, elbows on knees. Rachel sat cross-legged, flipping her coin. Elliot tried to look calm and failed.
"So the idea is we wait for the right moment," Grace said. "That's when the bridge is weakest. That's when we move."
Jason scoffed. "You say that like you know it'll work."
"It's better than charging in blind."
"What's the endgame?" he asked. "We hide, we wait, we move—then what?"
No one had an answer.
Upstairs, Damian and Sasha locked the door behind them. Her voice dropped into Janet's natural cadence.
"We have allies still in play," Sasha reported. "They're posing as lab staff, leave for breaks to pass me vital intel. When I brushed past them earlier, I handed me a copy of the lab's staff movements, the fact that the lab lockdown has been lifted, even internal comms."
Damian nodded. "Good. That'll help mask our next relocation."
"I've also built a collapsible platform network. Sewer access, scaffolding through the waterworks. It'll get us within one hundred yards of the Warren bridge before we surface."
"Smart," Damian said. Then he paused. "Grace still believes DARPA's an option."
Sasha tilted her head. "She'll figure it out soon enough. I wonder if she'll come to the same conclusion that Augustine chose."
"She's young. Too moral. She thinks institutions can be fixed. That idealism is dangerous."
Sasha's voice cooled. "Do you want me to handle it?"
"No," Damian said quickly. "She'll learn. One way or another."
Later that day, Rachel found Grace alone, leaning against a rusted balcony.
"There's something wrong," Rachel murmured, low enough that only Grace could hear.
Grace glanced at her. "The mission?"
"No," Rachel said. "Not outside. In here."
She tapped her chest once, then held up the coin. "It keeps landing wrong. That doesn't happen."
Grace furrowed her brow. "What do you mean, 'wrong'?"
"I don't know," Rachel admitted. "But something's twisted here. It's not doesn't land when I ask if we'll be okay. I think someone here will betray us."
She left before Grace could respond, the coin spinning between her fingers again.
That night, Marissa made her move. In the dead hour before dawn, she climbed to the roof and cupped her hands around her mouth. The sound she released was low, almost imperceptible—until it began to vibrate. Subsonic pulses danced through the air.
Downstairs, Damian froze. Then sprinted.
By the time he reached the roof, the sound had stopped.
"Who did you signal?" he asked.
"I didn't tell anyone where we are," Marissa snapped. "Just an echo pulse. My sister might be close."
Jason stepped into the stairwell behind him. "Why does it bother you so much, Alex? You keep us locked down like prisoners."
"She could've alerted a First Sons drone, or a First Son scout, or worse," Damian said evenly.
Elliot raised his hands. "Maybe they're not even looking anymore. Maybe they gave up."
Damian almost responded. Almost gave in to the temptation to peel back the mask and silence them all.
Instead, he exhaled.
"You won't have to wait much longer."
Marissa folded her arms. "I don't need your permission to do as I please. I just wanted to see if my sister was in this area."
"Good," Damian said calmly. "Once we're in Neon District, you can care as do as you like. Until then, don't risk my life to satisfy your needs."
Grace stepped forward, placing herself between them. "That's enough, Alex. She has seen the error in her decision so let's drop it now."
The air was filled with silence.
"No," he said after a moment. "Please don't forget that I am the reason you're not still in a lab. That means I'm being hunted down too. So I have every right to disagree with the actions of someone putting my life in jeopardy."
He turned and left. The weight of his gaze lingered longer than his footsteps.
That night, Grace sat alone on the building's top floor, surrounded by floating pieces of metal, stone, and wire. They orbited her in precise geometric paths—circles, pentagons, weaving between one another without touching. Her control was flawless.
She closed her eyes. Breathed. The city spoke in vibrations—distant drones, wind against steel.
Below, Damian watched.
"She's getting strong as her body continues to metabolize the serum you pumped into her," Sasha said beside him. "Her growth should start to slow soon though."
"It's faster than I expected," Damian agreed.
Sasha crossed her arms. "Rachel or Grace?"
He didn't answer.
"Rachel sees too much which affects her mind and behavior. So we can't be sure she can't affect all of us," Sasha murmured. "But Grace… she might be useful to inflirate DARPA and maybe even the DPU eventually when it forms later."
Damian didn't disagree.
On the third night, the first explosion shook the skyline.
They all raced to the rooftop.
Smoke coiled into the dark sky. From the direction of the Warren, light flashed—blue, red, yellow, then white. Lightning. Fire and explosions. Screams echoed faintly.
"The battle's begun, we don't have much time," Sasha said.
Grace turned to Damian.
"Get the others ready to move," he said, eyes fixed on the war in the distance. "We leave soon."