The depot raid changed everything.
The next morning, The Collective was buzzing — whispers, half-truths, and eyes that lingered too long. Hale's injury had made him a hero to some, a liability to others. Jayden could feel it in the air: the shift from unity to suspicion.
He sat outside the infirmary, elbows on his knees, staring at the dirt. Hale was inside, his shoulder stitched and wrapped. The door creaked open, and Rhea stepped out, her expression unreadable.
"He'll live," she said. "But he won't lead another mission for a while."
Jayden nodded. "Good."
Rhea's gaze sharpened. "You disapprove of how it was handled?"
"I disapprove of being lied to," he said. "You said we were freeing information, not turning it into a weapon."
She tilted her head. "Freedom is a weapon, Jayden. You just haven't accepted it yet."
Before he could answer, Layla appeared at the end of the hall, her arms crossed tight. Her eyes said enough.
"Let's talk," she said, not to Rhea — to him.
---
The Sister's Truth
They walked out to the tree line beyond the compound. The fog hadn't lifted, but the air felt cleaner out here.
Layla didn't waste time. "I saw the files."
Jayden stopped. "What?"
"Hale's laptop. He was careless. There's a folder — Reclamation Priority. Names, records. People they plan to expose next."
Jayden frowned. "Exposing abusers is the point."
"Not just abusers," she said quietly. "Witnesses. Workers. Even kids who testified. They're going to burn everyone connected, no matter what side they were on."
He stared at her. "You're sure?"
"I read enough."
Jayden's stomach twisted. "Rhea knows?"
Layla nodded. "She ordered it."
---
The Cracks Show
That night, The Collective gathered in the mess hall. Hale was there, arm in a sling, standing beside Rhea.
Rhea spoke like a preacher. "Last night proved what we've always known — that the system fears the truth. They call us criminals because we remind them of their crimes."
Cheers rose, loud and fierce. Jayden didn't join. He watched faces — some angry, some inspired, all hungry for something.
Then Rhea said, "Tomorrow, we strike again. We flood the networks with their own lies. This time, we don't hide."
Layla's hand brushed Jayden's under the table — a small warning.
He glanced around. Not everyone looked convinced. Some whispered quietly, eyes darting toward Hale, others toward Rhea. There were fractures forming, tiny ones, but they were spreading fast.
When the crowd dispersed, Hale limped over. "You should be proud," he said. "You kept your head when it mattered."
Jayden's voice was cold. "You turned a rescue into a war."
Hale smiled faintly. "Sometimes war's the only thing that listens."
---
The Doubt
Later, in their quarters, Layla sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the cracked wall. "They're going to destroy everything," she said.
Jayden leaned against the door. "They already have."
She turned toward him. "We can leave."
"Where?"
"Anywhere."
He shook his head. "Rhea's got eyes everywhere. You saw the maps. The watchers. The checkpoints."
Layla stood. "Then we find a way past them. We did it before."
He didn't answer. His mind was stuck on the files, on the names — on the idea that they'd become exactly what they'd escaped.
Layla's voice softened. "You don't have to save them, Jay. You just have to stop becoming them."
He met her gaze, and something in him cracked a little more.
---
The Division
By morning, the camp was divided. You could see it in the groups — those who stood with Rhea, driven by conviction, and those who lingered in corners, whispering about what they'd seen in the files.
Jayden moved through the yard, pretending not to notice the glances. He passed the training area, where Hale barked instructions despite his injury.
"You're late," Hale said.
"Didn't know I signed up."
"You did the moment you stopped running," Hale replied. "Now pick a side."
Jayden met his eyes. "I already did."
Hale smirked. "Good. Just remember, hesitation kills faster than bullets."
---
The Breaking Point
That night, Layla woke him.
"Someone's outside."
He was on his feet instantly, knife in hand. Through the window, a figure moved near the fence.
They crept out quietly. The figure turned — a woman, young, nervous.
"It's okay," she whispered. "I'm leaving. I can't stay here anymore."
Jayden recognized her — the same girl who'd spoken to Layla in the mess hall.
Layla asked softly, "Why?"
"They're making us hack into old files — kids still in the system. They're not helping anyone. They're hunting."
Jayden felt it in his chest — the truth clicking into place.
Before he could answer, a flashlight beam cut through the dark.
"Stop!" Hale's voice.
The girl froze.
Jayden stepped in front of her. "She's done nothing wrong."
"She's deserting," Hale said. "And desertion here is treason."
Layla's voice trembled. "You hear yourself?"
Hale's gun came up. "Move, Jayden."
Jayden stared him down. "No."
A long moment passed. The night held its breath. Then Rhea's voice cut through the static behind them.
"Enough."
She stepped from the shadows, her expression calm but her eyes sharp as glass. "Let her go."
Hale hesitated. "She'll tell them—"
"She'll tell them nothing," Rhea said. "The system doesn't listen to ghosts."
Hale lowered the gun slowly, but the look he gave Jayden promised that this wasn't over.
The girl ran into the trees without looking back.
Rhea turned to Jayden. "You think you're saving people. You're just choosing different prisons."
He glared at her. "Then I'll burn every one I find."
Rhea smiled faintly. "Good. Then maybe you'll understand me after all."
---
The Sketch
Back in his room, Jayden couldn't sleep. He opened his sketchbook and drew the girl's silhouette — running, fading into trees, chased by light.
Underneath, he wrote:
When the walls start to crack, the light doesn't always save you. Sometimes it just shows what's inside.
Layla leaned over his shoulder. "You still think there's a way out?"
He closed the book. "There has to be."
Outside, thunder rumbled across the valley. Inside, The Collective hummed like a storm ready to split itself apart.