The hum is the first thing I notice.
Not sound—something between breath and vibration. It trembles at the edge of hearing, like the world remembering how to exist. The air tastes metallic. Every step I take feels heavier, like gravity's been rewritten to second-guess me.
When the Dark Nexus walked into the void, the silence that followed wasn't peace. It was a vacancy.
And now, that vacancy hums.
We're back inside the bunker, what's left of it anyway. The safehouse walls breathe in rhythm with the generator's pulse. Dim amber light ripples across steel, making everything look half-melted. I'm not sure how long I've been awake—time bends here. It doesn't flow; it loops.
Chase crouches by the containment monitor, eyes fixed on the readouts. "Her vitals are still stable," he says, voice quiet, reverent. "But the readings… they're phasing. Like she's not entirely in our dimension anymore."
"She isn't," I whisper.
He glances at me, then at the dark screen reflection beside me. There are two of me. One solid. One delayed.
"Kaleb…" He stands slowly. "You're leaving shadows again."
I look down. My own outline bleeds faintly across the floor—black on black, still moving even after I stop. It lags a second behind, like a skipped frame. When it catches up, the two merge, and reality shivers.
It doesn't hurt. But I feel it. Like static crawling through my nerves, looking for somewhere to belong.
Chase exhales. "It started right after the Dark Nexus disappeared, didn't it?"
I nod. "He didn't die. He just… stepped away."
"Into the void."
"Yeah. And he left a door open."
The Renegades keep busy to avoid talking about it. Maddie's fixing the perimeter sensors for the third time today. Jacob sharpens a blade he doesn't need. Booker's still recovering—his mind half there, half in places that shouldn't exist. Rev mutters prayers to circuits that no longer respond.
We move through the bunker like ghosts pretending to be human.
Sometimes, I wonder if we're still real.
I step into Aaliah's chamber again.
The containment field flickers, soft as breath. The glass hums in that same off-tone that's been following me everywhere. Her body's still suspended in light—still beautiful, still wrong. The Nexus lines that used to dance across her skin are dim now. Waiting. Listening.
When I press my palm to the barrier, the hum deepens. My shadow stretches farther than it should, slithering across the glass like it wants in.
I whisper, "Can you hear me?"
Nothing. Not even the faint pulse she used to send back.
Just static.
The hum answers in my bones instead, twisting, bending. For a heartbeat, I see her eyes open—only they're mine. My reflection wearing her face.
Then it's gone.
Chase appears in the doorway. "You're not going to like this," he says, tablet in hand. "The energy signature that was inside her…It's spreading. Like an infection."
"From her?"
"From you."
The words hit harder than I expected. "You mean—"
"I mean, whatever's left of the Nexus isn't dormant. It's migrating. It's making you the anchor now."
I step back from the chamber. "No. That can't—she's the constant. I'm the—"
"Variable?" he finishes. "You said that before. But the system disagrees."
The hum sharpens to a single tone. The lights flicker.
Chase's voice fades. His lips move, but the sound arrives late, half a second behind the motion. The world desynchronizes.
Then—snap. Everything catches up at once, and the echo hits like a wave.
When I blink, Chase is closer than he should be, eyes wide. "You vanished for a second."
I shake my head. "No. I was still here."
"Not to us."
The hum subsides, leaving ringing silence in its wake.
Later, when the others are asleep, I find myself outside. The night is dull and wrong—the stars gone, replaced by dull red satellites drifting like tired eyes. The air smells like rust and rain that forgot how to fall.
I walk until the world blurs around the edges. Every step leaves a faint shimmer, like the ground isn't sure it wants to exist under my feet. The hum follows, pulsing just beneath my heartbeat.
Then I hear her.
Faint. Distant.
Aaliah's voice.
"Kaleb…"
I stop dead.
Her tone isn't pleading. It's a warning.
"Don't follow him."
The world shifts. The air folds inward like it's inhaling me. For a moment, I'm staring into the same nothing the Dark Nexus walked into—black without texture, deep enough to drown a soul.
I whisper, "Where did he go?"
No answer. Just a faint echo: home.
When I turn back, someone's waiting at the edge of the ruins.
A figure in a gray coat. Barefoot. Hair wet with static. Eyes are gold and tired.
Rem.
"You really didn't think I'd miss the apocalypse, did you?" she says.
Her voice steadies something in me I didn't realize was shaking. "How long have you been here?"
"Long enough to see your shadow detach," she says, folding her arms. "You're louder than ever."
I nod toward the void behind me. "He's in there."
"I know."
"You can feel it too?"
She steps closer, studying me like a puzzle. "The Nexus isn't gone, Kaleb. It's recursive—it left a copy of itself inside you. That hum you keep hearing? That's reality syncing to your heartbeat."
"And Aaliah?"
Rem hesitates. "She's half in, half out. The field's still drawing power from her body, but her consciousness… It's somewhere else."
"Inside the void."
"Maybe," she says. "Or maybe she is the void now."
The words hollow the air between us.
"What do I do?" I ask.
Rem looks up at the sky, the faint red satellites winking like dying stars. "First, stop pretending you're fine. Second, find the rhythm."
"What rhythm?"
"The one that matches hers," she says. "The hum you hear—it's not noise. It's a bridge."
"A bridge to what?"
She meets my eyes, calm and unblinking. "To the part of you that didn't come back."
When she leaves, the hum swells again—two tones this time. One mine. One faintly higher, trembling like the edge of her voice.
I close my eyes.
The world flickers.
For a moment, I see the void again—see the Dark Nexus standing at its center, motionless, waiting.
And beside him… Aaliah.
Her hand outstretched.
Then they both dissolve into light.
When I wake, dawn hasn't arrived, but the bunker lights have changed color—no longer amber, but red fading to gold.
And my reflection doesn't move at all. It just stares back, patient.
Waiting for me to follow.