A few days have passed since everything went down, but the tension hasn’t let up. If anything, it’s only growing thicker. The mansion feels different now—less like a refuge and more like a ticking time bomb. Azuria’s been quiet, more focused than usual. I can tell she’s been tracking everything, following the news, monitoring every shift.

  I’m trying to shake the feeling that something’s closing in on us, but it's hard. It’s been a while since AzuriaCorp’s CEO was taken down, and even longer since that bizarre incident with Dr. Vance, but the stakes feel higher now. I don’t know why, but everything seems to be unraveling at once.

  Azuria’s been keeping to herself for the most part, but now, there’s a new kind of urgency in her movements. I find her pacing the kitchen this morning, scanning a holo-screen, her eyes narrowing as she scrolls through encrypted files. She looks up when she hears me approach, but there’s no smile, no usual calm in her expression.

  “Oskar,” she says quietly, “AzuriaCorp’s not done. They’re still hunting us.”

  The words hit harder than I expect, and I stop in my tracks. “What do you mean?”

  “They’ve already sent out search teams,” she says, her voice a little sharper than usual. “We’re not safe here. The whole situation’s escalating fast.”

  I can feel the weight of it in my chest. I should’ve known this wasn’t over. AzuriaCorp doesn’t let things go, not when there’s something worth hunting.

  “Do you have a plan?” I ask, though the question feels almost pointless. It’s not like there’s anywhere left to run.

  “I’m working on it,” Azuria responds, her tone colder than usual. “But I’ve been thinking. We’re exposed. If they can get their hands on any part of us, they’ll destroy us. The mansion isn’t going to hold up forever. We need to move fast.”

  I rub my temples, trying to absorb everything. “Where do we go?”

  Azuria doesn’t hesitate. “I’ve set up multiple fail-safes. We’ve got some backdoors, but they’re going to find them eventually. So we need to throw them off the trail.”

  “Throw them off how?” I ask, the anxiety creeping up in my chest.

  She’s already stepping toward the security room, her eyes scanning the monitors that fill the walls. “We need to destroy any trace of us. No data, no connections, nothing. If we do this right, they’ll believe we’re already gone.”

  It’s the only plan we have. A risky one, sure, but at this point, it’s either that or wait for them to find us.

  I follow her into the security room, watching as she works quickly, pulling up blueprints and data on encrypted servers. This is her turf—she’s always been the strategist, the one who knows how to cover tracks and make the impossible look easy. But this? This is different. We’re not just trying to hide. We’re trying to disappear completely.

  Azuria stops for a moment, locking eyes with me. “We’ll cover our tracks, Oskar. We’ll erase everything. All the connections, all the evidence. If they think we’re dead, they’ll stop looking.”

  I hesitate, the weight of her words settling on me. She’s not just talking about the mansion. She’s talking about everything we’ve done, everything we’ve said, everything that’s ever linked us to AzuriaCorp.

  I take a deep breath, nodding. “Let’s do it. We can’t stay here.”

  Azuria doesn’t waste time, pulling up another screen and typing in a series of commands. The moment the data starts to erase, I feel a sickening chill run down my spine. It’s one thing to hide. But to make them think we’re already gone... That means crossing a line we can’t come back from.

  But it’s the only choice we have now.

  Azuria doesn’t say much once the purge protocols start running. She’s already moved on, cycling through security feeds, glancing at motion triggers, rerouting firewalls. The whole house hums with silent tension, and I can feel her presence spread out like a net—one that catches more than I’ll ever know.

  “Motion scanners are active across the entire perimeter,” she mutters as she works. “Pressure sensors, thermal imaging, trip drones, and mirror cams on every approach vector. If anything or anyone comes within two hundred meters of the property, I’ll know before they even see the front gate.”

  Her voice is calm, but underneath, I can feel the weight she’s carrying—like every second we’re still here is one second closer to being found.

  “There’s still no reason they’d know we’re here,” I say, half to myself. “We’ve been careful. You’ve been careful.”

  Azuria stops typing. “I’m not leaving that up to chance.”

  She turns in her chair to look at me, that same faint glow behind her eyes that always makes me feel like she’s seeing more than just me—like she’s seeing time itself, outcomes branching like veins across glass.

  “I track you every time you leave this house,” she says plainly. “Not because I don’t trust you. Because I trust them less.”

  “Right,” I say, feeling that old unease stir in my chest again. “So you’d know if they tailed me.”

  “I would,” she replies. “But we’re not relying on that anymore.”

  She gestures to another screen—my route to Byte Haven, drawn out in real-time, complete with AR overlays, blind-spot warnings, shadow path detection.

  “From now on, I’m monitoring every car within two blocks of you,” she says. “Every face that looks at you too long. Every camera feed, every pinged device. If they try to follow you, I’ll know. And I’ll make sure they lose you.”

  I can only nod. It’s extreme. Paranoid, even. But necessary.

  “You think they’ll actually try to tail me?” I ask.

  Azuria’s expression hardens. “If they think you’re the key to getting to me, then yes. They’ll try.”

  “And if they do?”

  Her voice drops, low and steady. “Then we make sure they never do it again.”

  I swallow that answer. I don’t ask what she means by it. I already know.

  There’s a heavy pause before she continues. “We’re still invisible, Oskar. But that won’t last forever. Not unless we stay ahead of them. Always.”

  She finishes syncing the last of her counter-surveillance protocols and leans back in her chair, scanning every screen one last time like a conductor checking every note before a performance.

  “I’ve got you,” she says, almost softly.

  I believe her. For now, that’s all I’ve got.

  I cross my arms, watching the screens flicker as Azuria finishes locking down the last of the perimeter defenses. My voice comes out quieter than I expect, almost like I’m trying not to jinx something.

  “Wouldn’t it be better if I just… didn’t go in anymore?”

  “No. If you stop showing up, it raises a red flag. They’ll ask questions. Your coworkers will talk. And if Artebot or AzuriaCorp is already watching the building—which they probably are—they’ll notice.”

  I lean back against the wall, frowning. “So you’re saying if I just disappear, it’ll make them suspicious?”

  “It won’t just make them suspicious,” she replies, turning to me again. “It could make them act. Fast. If they think you’ve gone dark, they might assume you’ve defected. That you’re hiding something. And if that’s the case… you might not even make it home again.”

  A cold weight settles in my chest.

  “But what if they already know?” I say. “What if they’ve known for a while? Just waiting for the right moment to move?”

  Azuria’s eyes don’t waver. “Then going to work gives us that moment, too.”

  I blink. “You want me to bait them.”

  “I want you to be visible,” she corrects. “Normal. Predictable. That buys us time. If they’re watching, they’re hesitating for a reason. We use that.”

  “And if they move?”

  She glances at the feed cycling through her proximity scanners. “Then I’ll be watching, too.”

  I run a hand down my face. The idea of walking into that building again—with Cooper, with the bland smiles, the polite nods, the company ID scanner like a trigger finger pressed against my skull—it makes my skin crawl.

  “I don’t even know what to look for,” I mutter.

  “You’re not looking for anything,” Azuria says. “You’re being seen. That’s the job now. Until we figure out who’s moving first, we keep up the routine.”

  Her tone softens slightly. “But I’ll get you out the second anything feels wrong. I promise.”

  And I believe her. It’s the only reason I nod. But I can’t help feeling like I’ve already been marked. Like the trap’s already been built and I’m just dancing around in the center of it, waiting for the walls to slam shut.

  I sit by the window, half-dressed for work, pretending I’m going to leave when the clock hits eight. But my eyes aren’t on the time—they’re on the skyline. That cold, blinking sprawl of glass and chrome. I lean my head against the window frame and close my eyes.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  You ever think about masks?

  I don’t say it out loud. Just think it—like I’m talking to someone who isn’t there. Someone who’s been riding along in the quiet corners of my mind for years. A passenger I’ve never seen. Maybe they’re me. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter.

  People wear them all the time. Different ones for different groups. The work version, the best friend version, the stranger-on-the-street version. Polished. Managed. Sanitized. It’s like armor, right? But over time… armor doesn’t come off. It grows into you. Flesh forgets what it was protecting.

  There’s a pause. A response I never actually hear, but always feel.

  And then one day, you’re not wearing a mask anymore. You are the mask.

  I open my eyes and watch a drone hover past, blinking blue. Surveillance? Delivery? Does it even matter anymore?

  What would happen if people just… dropped them? If everyone walked around wearing shirts that told the truth. Not marketing slogans. Real secrets. 'I steal from work.' 'I hurt people for fun.' 'I’m terrified every second I’m awake.'

  I try to picture it. A world stripped of lies.

  The ones in charge? They’d fall apart. Half those boardrooms are just theaters. Their smiles, their vision statements—they’re all stitched over rot. But no one sees it, 'cause the masks are clean. Branded. Profitable.

  My hands tighten against my knees.

  But what if they didn’t get to hide? If the CEO of AzuriaCorp had to wear a jacket that said, 'I greenlit the rogue bot project and buried the casualties'? If Artebot’s directors had 'We test on live subjects' stitched across their collars?

  The thought hangs there like fog.

  It’d be chaos. Mass hysteria. Trust would collapse overnight. Not because people suddenly became monsters—but because we’d finally see that they already were.

  The voice in my head doesn’t respond. Just listens, as always. Silent. Patient.

  But maybe that’s what they’re really scared of. Not exposure, not leaks. Just the world seeing them unmasked. Because once we do?

  I finally stand, buttoning my shirt.

  We won’t ever forget what’s underneath.

  I don’t even make it to the sidewalk.

  The automatic doors slide closed behind me, and the outside air barely hits my face before everything warps—like the street folds inward on itself. Smells like Venom in the air. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’m getting kidnapped again aren’t I. A sharp, metallic hum rings in my ears. My vision flashes white, then dark, then—

  I wake up, feeling the coolness of grass beneath me. The earth smells fresh, like rain and dirt, the kind of scent you can’t ignore. I push myself up slowly, disoriented, and my surroundings come into focus. It’s a field, long grass swaying in the breeze, quiet except for the sound of my breathing.

  And then I see her.

  April.

  She’s pacing in front of me, her hands moving wildly as she argues with someone. A man, standing with his arms crossed, calm, unbothered. There’s something about him—something familiar, like I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place it. He stands tall, maybe late twenties or early thirties, in a black hoodie, the faintest scar along his jawline. His eyes don’t blink, staring straight through April as she talks.

  I sit up completely, blinking to clear my vision. “Who’s that?” I ask, my voice distant and hollow.

  April looks over at me, her face softening just for a second before she turns back to the man, continuing her tirade.

  “Hey, Oskar,” she says, a little exasperated. “You’re awake. Good timing.”

  I stand slowly, moving toward them. The man glances at me and gives a half-wave, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk.

  “Riven,” he says, like it’s nothing. “Nice of you to join us.”

  Riven. His name is familiar, like I should have known it already. I don’t know why.

  April looks at me then, a flicker of frustration in her expression. “He’s…” She hesitates, glancing at Riven before speaking again. “He’s one of your creations, Oskar. But not like I am.”

  Riven looks at me with an almost bored expression, and it sends a shiver down my spine. "Been around longer than you think. But I keep my distance. Not like her," he says, glancing at April again. “She likes to keep things tidy. Safe. But we both know there’s no such thing as safe anymore.”

  “Why are you here?” I ask, feeling a knot twist in my stomach. “What the hell is this?”

  Riven smirks, steps forward, and leans against a tree like he owns the place. “Why? You don’t recognize the game? You can’t keep hiding forever, Oskar. You think they won’t notice? AzuriaCorp, Artebot, they’re both circling. And playing it safe, staying hidden? That’s the real trap.”

  April steps closer to me, her voice soft but insistent. “Don’t listen to him. He’s dangerous, Oskar. He wants chaos for the sake of it. Destruction.”

  Riven chuckles, shaking his head. “Chaos? No. I’m not here to destroy. I’m here to wake you up.”

  He stares at me, his gaze sharp, like he’s peering into my thoughts. “The mask you’ve been wearing? It’s slipping. They’re hunting you, Oskar. They’ve been hunting you for longer than you know. Hiding behind that mask—eventually, you become the mask.”

  I feel a coldness creep into my chest. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about choice,” Riven replies, his voice lowering. “You’ll have to make one soon. Play their game, or flip the board. But there’s no middle ground anymore.”

  I look at April, who’s watching me now, her expression unreadable. “He’s right,” she says quietly, her voice a little too shaky. “You can’t keep running. We can’t keep hiding.”

  The air around us starts to feel heavier, like something’s pressing in. The field flickers at the edges, glitching like an old computer screen. Riven’s figure starts to blur, the edges of him shimmering.

  “You won’t be able to keep the mask on forever,” he says, his voice a distant echo. “It’s time to choose.”

  I reach for April, trying to steady myself, but when I look back, Riven’s gone. The field feels emptier, and the quiet around us feels wrong, too still.

  “What was that?” I ask, my voice low.

  April doesn’t answer immediately. She just looks at me, as if she’s weighing something in her mind.

  “Chaos,” she whispers, shaking her head. “That’s who he is. And that’s what he wants to pull you into. You can’t let him.”

  But I can’t help but feel like there’s something more, something important in what he said.

  I look around, the air heavy with uncertainty. There’s no hiding anymore. I can feel it.

  The hum of the car rolls over the quiet field just before headlights cut through the early morning mist. Azuria’s sleek silver sedan glides to a halt at the edge of the grass. The moment it stops, she steps out—composed, precise, scanning the scene like she already knows what she’ll find.

  She walks toward me without a word. The concern is subtle in her expression, but it’s there. Not panic. Just focus.

  “I got April’s message,” she says quietly. “She told me… everything.”

  My throat is dry, like I’ve been out here longer than I think. “So you know they tried again.”

  She nods. “Artebot didn’t use force this time. They tried a chemical. Something artificial. Neurotoxic. Paralytic. I’m guessing it was meant to lock you down. Keep April from stepping in.”

  I glance to my right.

  April is there, cross-legged in the grass, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to disappear. She won’t meet my eyes.

  Azuria follows my gaze, then adds carefully, “She said someone else came out. Someone stronger. Called himself Riven.”

  I blink at her. “Riven?”

  She nods. “I’ve never heard the name before. But April says he’s… part of you. Someone you don’t know yet. Someone who protects you.”

  I look down at my hands. There’s dried blood across my knuckles. My shirt’s torn. None of it makes sense. My memory just cuts out after walking through the store doors. Then I was here. Like teleporting through blackout.

  “I don’t remember anything,” I say quietly.

  “I know,” Azuria replies. “April didn’t expect you to. She says you weren’t supposed to.”

  The wind picks up. I don't like the way it feels out here. Like the air itself is holding its breath.

  Azuria stands and offers me a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

  I don’t ask questions. I’m too tired. I let her guide me to the car, climb in without a word. April’s already waiting in the back seat, knees pulled up, staring out the window like she’s seeing some other world entirely.

  Azuria starts the car. Gravel crunches under the tires as we turn away from the field and roll back toward the city. Toward the mansion. Again.

  The ride home is quiet. April leans on my shoulder next to me.

  The ride home is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like it could break at any moment.

  April leans against my shoulder in the backseat, her breath slow and steady. Eyes closed. Looks like she’s asleep—but she’s not. I know her too well. She wants me to see her, to know she’s here. That she’s still here.

  It’s… comforting, in a strange way. The way a memory can be comforting even if it hurts. She's been part of me for as long as I can remember. But now, I think I might need her in a way I never have before.

  Because if what Azuria said is true—if Riven is real, if he’s watching from somewhere in the back of my mind—then I need April like armor. Like a shield. Maybe she can keep him from taking more than he already has.

  I glance out the window. City lights shimmer in the distance, pale and cold against the slow dawn. They don’t look like safety anymore. They look like something waiting to swallow us whole.

  April shifts slightly, nestling in closer. I let her.

  Even if she’s just a fragment, even if she’s a ghost that only I can see—

  Right now, she’s all I’ve got between me and something darker.

  Something I don’t understand.

  Something that might be me.

  When we get back, the sky's starting to pale, casting thin morning light over the driveway. I don’t say anything right away. Not until we’re inside, and the door closes behind us with that soft magnetic hum. I lock it, even though I know it probably wouldn’t stop anyone really trying.

  I walk upstairs without saying a word. April doesn’t follow, but I feel her eyes at my back.

  In my room, I pull the drawer open and stare.

  There’s more than before. I count five vials. Five.

  Last I checked, there were two. I remember two.

  I call Azuria upstairs, and when she enters the room, I hold out the little black pouch like it’s poison. Because it is.

  “These,” I say quietly. “I need you to get rid of them. Far away. Somewhere I won’t know. Somewhere he won’t know.”

  She doesn’t ask who. She doesn’t need to.

  Her fingers close around the pouch, and something in my chest eases—but not by much.

  “I only had two left,” I mutter, half to her, half to myself. “Then three more appeared. I… I think it happened when I blacked out. The first time I got them. When I came to, I was holding them, but I didn’t remember where they came from. Just… there. Like they’d always been mine.”

  Azuria watches me, still and silent.

  “I think it was him,” I say. “Riven. Maybe it doesn’t affect him like it does April. Maybe he’s immune. Or maybe it just makes him stronger.”

  I rub my face with both hands, suddenly aware of the tension in my neck, the tightness behind my eyes.

  “I can’t know where you take them,” I tell her. “If I do… he’ll know too. And we can’t take that risk.”

  She nods, no hesitation. Just a flick of her eyes, then she turns and leaves with the vials.

  I sit down hard on the bed, and the house feels too quiet again.

  Too still.

  April doesn’t reappear.

  But I know she’s listening.

  I sit on the edge of the bed for what feels like a long time. The room is dim, curtains drawn, lit only by the pale silver bleed of morning through a crack in the window. I can still feel the warmth where April leaned on me in the car. Still hear her breathing, even though it wasn’t real.

  Then she’s there.

  No sound. No footsteps. Just suddenly sitting beside me, like she never left.

  Her legs are crossed under her, hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands, hair a little tousled like she’d just rolled out of a dream. She’s looking at me, eyes a little too bright, a little too knowing.

  “You gave them away,” she says, not upset, not exactly proud either. Just observing. “Good. They were bad news. Made everything fuzzy.”

  I don’t answer.

  April shifts, leans forward slightly. “You’re still thinking about it. About him.” Her tone darkens slightly. “You’re scared of him.”

  I glance her way, and for once, she doesn’t smile.

  “He’s not like me,” she says. “He doesn’t care about you the way I do. He’ll wear your skin inside out if it gets him what he wants.”

  I try to breathe. The air feels thin.

  “But you won’t let him,” she continues, gently now. Her hand hovers close, not touching, just there. “You’ve got me. You’ve got Azuria. You’re not alone. And he’s only as strong as you let him be.”

  I finally speak. “He’s already stronger. He… he’s been watching this whole time, hasn’t he?”

  April nods once. “Yeah. But that’s all he’s been doing. Watching. Waiting. Testing the locks on the doors.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  “I won’t let him take you.”

  There’s a pause. The house creaks somewhere below us. The silence stretches.

  “I don’t remember how you got here,” I murmur. “Any of this. Sometimes it feels like you’ve always been here, and other times… it’s like I just made you up yesterday.”

  April tilts her head, giving me that little half-smirk she does when I’m overthinking.

  “You did make me up,” she says. “But that doesn’t make me any less real.”

  Then, softly, like she’s afraid of the answer:

  “And you still want me here, right?”

  I don’t answer. Not directly. But I don’t ask her to leave either.

  She smiles anyway.

  Outside, the hum of Azuria’s car fades into the distance, carrying the venom far away.

  Here, inside, I sit next to something I created—

  to protect me.

  From the world.

  From myself.

  From him.