Kyle’s chest constricted the instant her mind brushed against his. A flicker—faint as a candle guttering in the wind—but it was enough. Aiko’s terror threaded into him, raw and unfiltered. He saw her memories tangled with Malcolm’s drugs, Liam’s face, and Jack’s grin. It felt like drowning in someone else’s nightmares.

  He staggered against the corridor wall, bile rising in his throat. Every nerve screamed for him to run in the opposite direction, but his presence wouldn’t let him. It tethered him like a hook through the ribs, dragging him forward.

  The door cracked open, and he glimpsed the scene inside: Malcolm looming, silver-suited enforcer at his side, syringe hovering over Aiko’s skin. Kyle’s hands shook violently, the old burn scars itching as if the Mindjevity rig had fused with his flesh again.

  He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Malcolm’s voice echoed in his skull, taunting from the past: “You’re a vessel, Kyle. Nothing more. You’ll do what I make you do.”

  For a moment, he believed it. His legs nearly buckled.

  Then Aiko’s eyes found him—half-lidded, glassy with chemicals—and even through the fog, he felt her plea. Not words. Not thought. Just need.

  Kyle’s mouth went dry. “Damn you, Malcolm,” he muttered, louder than he meant.

  Malcolm turned, startled, but too late. Kyle threw out his hand, channeling everything that was tearing him apart. The Mindjevity residue inside him burned like molten wire, carving lines of agony down his spine. The air split with a sound like glass shattering underwater.

  A portal ripped open behind Malcolm—red, jagged, unstable. It stank of iron and ozone.

  Kyle collapsed to one knee, he held the device in both hands. His vein lit up like molten silver, his eyes burned with pain. Holding the tear open felt like balancing the weight of the world on his skull. He screamed, veins bulging, but the scream turned into a command—raw, desperate, meant for her alone.

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  “Go, Aiko!”

  Aiko flinched as wind roared out of nowhere, pulling her toward the rift. She screamed and pointed to Kyle’s cracked skin at the edges of the glow, blood mixing with light. He wasn’t guiding it — it was consuming him.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  The silver man lunged, Malcolm shouted something—Kyle didn’t hear. All he saw was Aiko slipping sideways into the red light, her body vanishing through the ragged edge of his will.

  The portal snapped shut the moment she was gone, dropping him flat to the floor. Darkness crept in at the corners of his vision; his last thought was bitter as ash: If I bought her a heartbeat of freedom, it was worth it.

  The room fell silent after the portal snapped shut, the air still hissing with ozone. Malcolm’s face tightened—not rage, not yet, but something colder. Calculation.

  Kyle lay sprawled on the floor, his chest heaving, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. Every nerve in his body felt scalded raw. His own heartbeat was deafening, a drumbeat pounding against cracked glass. He tried to push himself up, but his arms gave out, slamming him back against the tile.

  The silver-suited man loomed above him, syringe still in hand. “He tore a breach. Do you want me to—”

  Malcolm raised one finger. The enforcer froze.

  Malcolm crouched beside Kyle, expression composed, almost curious. He tapped the side of Kyle’s face with two fingers, inspecting him like a specimen pinned to a board.

  “You burned a hole with borrowed fire,” Malcolm murmured. “Did you think she wouldn’t slip through if I wanted her to? That maybe I let you?”

  Kyle’s breath rasped, his throat too raw to form a reply. His body convulsed as if the portal was still ripping him apart from the inside.

  Malcolm leaned closer, his voice soft, intimate, the way a priest whispers over a grave.

  “She’ll believe she’s free now. That’s the trick. You gave her a taste of hope—hope she’ll run right back into. And you… You’ve shown me something. You’re not useless after all.”

  Kyle’s eyes flickered open, just enough to catch Malcolm’s smile. The sight hollowed him out more than the pain.

  Then the needle plunged into his arm. Cold fire surged through his veins, erasing what little strength he had left.

  Malcolm straightened, dusting his hands. “Let him live. Broken things are sometimes more useful than whole ones.”

  The silver man stepped back. Kyle’s vision blurred into streaks of shadow and light, but one thought clung stubbornly in the dark: Aiko got out. She’s not his yet.

  With that, he slipped into blackness.