The old library stood dark, its stone walls crumbling under October's gray sky.
Tylor slipped inside, arm sore, Elena's journal heavy in his coat.
Amaira clung close, pigtails tucked, flashlight shaking, drawing in her pocket.
Kayla limped, drive glowing, green eyes fierce, dreams buzzing with purple light.
Elias stayed back, watching Clara, her cold voice warning of the Architect.
Dust hung thick, bookshelves hiding a spiral mark on the floor.
Amaira knelt, small fingers finding a trapdoor, "It's here!" she whispered.
Kayla's drive beeped, showing a fracture machine below, Architect's last stand.
They crept down, a basement glowing, violet fracture pulsing by a console.
A hooded figure turned—the Architect, eyes hidden, voice low, "You're late."
Tylor gripped his pipe, heart racing, "Stop this, or we will."
Kayla hacked the console, drive sparking, fracture shrinking, "Overload now!"
Drones whirred, beams burning, Amaira threw a book, hitting one.
The Architect fled, console exploding, fracture gone, library shaking hard.
Tylor held Amaira, Kayla's hand tight, Architect's shadow still out there.