Kael awoke to the sound of breathing.
Not normal breathing—wet, shuddering, like lungs filled with gravel. His eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he couldn't see anything. Just black. A pressure on his chest. His left arm twitched uselessly, still numb, still crawling with veins that pulsed to a rhythm not his own.
Then the darkness peeled back.
They were inside a hollowed-out subway car, buried under collapsed concrete and ash. The windows had long since shattered, leaving jagged edges. The only light came from a pulsing, dim blue cage in the center of the car. Inside, a humanoid figure sat with its back to them, trembling.
Kael tried to move, but a boot pressed against his chest, pinning him.
"You're awake."
The voice wasn't Lyss's or Veyra's.
A young man stood above him, maybe a few years older than Kael, dressed in scavenged armor patched with Hollowborn leather and old Duskbound plating. His eyes were completely black—no whites, no pupils. Just ink. But his Mark glowed faintly against his collarbone in the shape of a serrated ring.
"Don't try to use your Echo," the stranger added. "This whole area's warded. It'll kill you before it activates."
Kael looked around. Lyss was slumped against a wall, unconscious but breathing. Veyra lay on her side, one arm twisted unnaturally behind her, blood dried across her lips.
And behind them, the Ticker stood silently. Watching.
"Where are we?" Kael rasped.
The stranger tilted his head.
"Somewhere the Hollowborn don't go. Not often. This is an old extractor car. Pre-Dimming. They used to ferry Marked through here for harvesting. There's enough psychic residue to make the beasts sick." He grinned. "Which means it's perfect for us."
Kael forced himself upright, pushing off the boot. The stranger let him.
"You're Syndicate," Kael said. It wasn't a question.
The stranger's grin widened."Technically. Though the Syndicate doesn't really exist anymore. Not above ground."
"Then what do you want from us?"
The Ticker finally stepped forward.
"He wants to survive. Same as you."
Kael looked at the boy again, this time noticing the tremor in his fingers, the sunken cheeks, the way his breath came in short, panicked bursts despite the bravado.
This wasn't a rescuer.
It was a trapped animal trying to make sure it wasn't the slowest one running.
"What was that thing?" Kael asked. "The hound. With Veyra's brother's eye."
The stranger's smile dropped."A tracker," he said quietly. "Spliced with an identity shard. They're experimenting with memories now. Stitching bits of the Marked into the creatures so they move smarter. Hunt smarter." He looked at Veyra. "I'm sorry. That… that wasn't really him anymore."
Kael clenched his jaw.
"It remembered how to find us."
"Exactly."
A groan broke the silence—Lyss. She stirred slowly, pressing a hand to her ear, then blinked in confusion at the glowing cage.
Inside the cage, the figure turned.
Kael recoiled.
It was a child.
Maybe eight years old. Skin like cracked porcelain, glowing faintly blue. No hair. No eyes. Just sockets filled with writhing threads of light.
"That's Mira," the stranger said. "She's… not like us."
"What is she?" Lyss asked, hoarse.
"A mistake." The Ticker stepped beside the cage. "She was born inside the Riftline. Before it became what it is now. They tried to harvest her when she was still a baby. But the Echo didn't just imprint—it infused. She doesn't speak, doesn't eat. But she sees everything. All the memories the Rift devours? They collect inside her."
Kael stared. "You brought us here. To her."
The Ticker nodded."She can show you what's coming. But only if you give her something in return."
"Another memory," Kael muttered.
"No," said the stranger. "Something deeper. Something you regret. She eats guilt like sugar."
Veyra groaned and sat up slowly. When she saw Mira, her breath hitched.
"That's what they become if they survive too long, isn't it?"
The Ticker didn't answer.
Kael looked down at his own hand. His skin was beginning to crack near the wrist—obsidian lines running like veins beneath the surface.
The Mark wasn't just feeding on his memories anymore.
It was growing roots.
"What does she want to show us?"
"The Hollow Prince," said Mira's voice—except it didn't come from her mouth. It came from inside Kael's skull, soft and high and terrifying.
Everyone froze.
The lights dimmed. The cage flared. And Mira stood.
Her eyes opened wide, and from the sockets came light—images, cascading across the subway car's walls.
The city. Burning.
The Riftline. Bleeding.
A throne made of bone and memory, and seated on it, a figure with no face, but a thousand voices.
And Kael.
Standing beside him. Wearing a crown of ash.