The city seemed to hold its breath.
They walked side by side, in silence, while the streetlights blinked on and off behind them like they didn't want to be seen.
The wind moved softly, dragging paper and leaves across the pavement.
Wet shoes. Measured steps.
A horn in the distance, then nothing.
Clara held the flash drive tight in her fist, as if keeping it there could keep her from falling apart.
Every now and then, she brushed her thumb across it, making sure it was still real.
Adrian walked without looking at her, his posture rigid, a man holding himself together by force of will. For a long stretch, neither spoke. The silence between them wasn't distance, it was shared fear.
Then Clara's voice broke through, low, steady: "Are you afraid?"
Adrian hesitated.
"Not of what we'll find," he said after a moment.
He paused, drawing a shallow breath. "But of what I might do if something happens to you."
Clara turned to him. Her eyes caught the flicker of the passing lights.
"You don't really think I'll turn back now, do you?"
"There's still time. If we leave now…"
"No." She shook her head, firm. "This time we don't run."
Adrian didn't answer. Only a distant flash of lightning lit his face for an instant: tired, hollow, human.
They kept walking.
The streets narrowed, and mist began to rise from the ground.
The air smelled of iron, sharp and metallic, as if the night itself remembered them.
And then, ahead, the clinic.
It stood there, silent and massive.
The windows glowed unevenly, some bright, some dark, like the slow blink of a living creature.
A faint electrical hum pulsed from within.
The building wasn't a place anymore. It was waiting.
Clara slowed down, then stopped in front of the gate.
Adrian caught up to her, staying half a step behind.
The gate was slightly open.
"It can't be," he murmured.
"It's expecting us."
Her fingers brushed the metal. The gate opened by itself, no effort, no sound, just a quiet click.
Clara crossed first. Each step past that threshold felt like stepping into herself.
The floor gleamed faintly under the flickering neon lights.
"Everything's the same," she whispered.
"No," Adrian said quietly. "It's watching us."
A monitor on the wall flickered to life. Images rolled across the screen.
Clara turned toward it. It was them. Sitting across from each other.
Her in the white coat, him in gray.
The same words, the same movements, looping endlessly.
Rinaldi's voice filled the corridor, flat and mechanical:
"Subject B shows increasing emotional interference. Synchronization progressing beyond predicted parameters. Continuous observation required."
Adrian stepped forward and shut the monitor off with a sharp motion.
"Don't look at it."
But Clara already had.
On the screen, before it went black, a file name flashed: Protocol R – Final Stage: Integration.
Her breath caught.
"So that's what this was all about."
Adrian grabbed her wrist.
"You don't need to see the rest."
"Stop trying to protect me."
She pulled free, her voice steady. "They've taken enough from us already."
He froze.
The light from the screens carved deep shadows across his face.
"If that file really is the final stage," he said quietly, "we might be able to use it."
Clara nodded.
"Then we will."
A sound, faint, behind them. A step. Then another.
The hallway lights began to shut off, one by one, in slow succession.
The floor vibrated beneath their feet.
A calm, metallic voice echoed from the ceiling speakers:
"Welcome back, Subjects A and B. Final synchronization sequence will begin shortly."
Clara felt Adrian's breath near her face. He was staring at the door as it closed behind them.
A click.
Silence.
The hum deepened, rhythmic, like a mechanical heartbeat rising from below.
Clara reached out and caught Adrian's hand.
"Don't let go."
He gripped her back, wordless.
The vibration grew stronger. For an instant, the walls seemed to breathe.
"It's started," he whispered.
And in that moment, Clara knew: there was no turning back.