By the time they reached the outskirts of the Havel Estate, night had already begun to fall—an iron dusk settling over the hills like a shroud. The storm had passed, leaving behind a washed-out silence broken only by the crunch of their boots over gravel. The main road had long since vanished beneath creeping vines and weeds. Every sign of habitation looked half-swallowed by nature, as though the earth itself had been trying to erase what had once stood here.Grey paused at the crest of the hill and raised his binoculars. Below them, the estate sprawled in ruins: a mansion reduced to bones. Its roof had collapsed in places, windows were blown out, and ivy crawled over every arch. Yet through the cracks and decay, a faint light glimmered behind one of the lower windows—a small, stubborn flicker that didn’t belong.“Someone’s here,” Grey said, lowering the binoculars.Lana adjusted the strap of her bag. “Havel.”“Or what’s left of him,” Grey replied.The wind shifted, carrying the faint

The mist thickened as the car wound down the valley road, the world narrowing to the curve of headlights and the sound of wet gravel. Grey’s grip on the wheel was steady, but his eyes flicked once—briefly—to Lana.“What did you hear?” he asked.She kept her gaze on the windshield. “You heard it too.”“I heard static,” he said. “And someone using your name.”Lana’s reflection trembled in the glass, ghosted by the rain streaks. “That voice—” she started, then stopped herself. No, not a voice. A recording. Too deliberate, too measured. Her name had been spoken like a codeword.She exhaled slowly. “That wasn’t live.”Grey glanced at her. “What do you mean?”“It wasn’t someone speaking. It was playback.”He frowned. “Playback from what? The car doesn’t even have a working transmitter.”She didn’t answer. Her mind had already gone somewhere else—to the vault beneath the Havel estate, to the folders, to the strange line in her file: Replacement initiated, Subject 47-R/2.The Foundation didn’

Rain hammered the streets in silver ribbons as Lana and Grey slipped through the shattered fence, the archive’s glow shrinking behind them until it vanished completely. They didn’t stop running until they reached the underpass, breath ragged, shoes slick with mud.Grey pressed his back to the wall, listening. The night was alive with echoes—the throb of an engine, the sharp burst of a car door slamming shut. Searchlights skimmed the outer walls of the compound.“They’re sweeping the perimeter,” he said quietly.Lana crouched beside him, her pulse still racing. “They knew exactly where to find us.”He nodded grimly. “Because that message wasn’t a malfunction. It was bait.”She swallowed, glancing toward the folded letter in her coat. If you’re reading this, then the Foundation has outlived us both… Seraphine’s handwriting had been steady. Purposeful. Not the scrawl of a fugitive.“You think she sent it,” she said. “Not the Foundation.”“I think,” Grey replied, “that someone wants us to

The metal stairway groaned beneath their weight as Grey and Lana stumbled into the lower docks. The air was thick with smoke, laced with salt and something acrid. Sirens wailed faintly above—distant, echoing. The sea below churned in restless waves.Grey’s flashlight swept across the submerged bay. “There,” he said. A shape waited beyond the mist—an old transport vessel, half-hidden beneath the dock’s overhang. The paint was peeling, the hull streaked with rust, but the engine hummed faintly.Lana coughed, wiping grime from her face. “You’re sure this is the one?”“Seraphine said east dock. This is the only one left floating.”They reached the boarding ramp. A chain hung across it, sealed with a small Foundation tag—white and silver, stamped RESTRICTED PROPERTY. Grey broke it with a wrenching twist.Inside, the vessel smelled of oil and stale air. It was small, meant for quiet transport—two decks, narrow corridors, no windows. The hum beneath their feet deepened when Grey hit the powe

The sky over East 43rd burned pale orange by the time they reached the ridge beyond the harbor. The city was still, hushed beneath a veil of smoke that clung to the water. From up there, the ruins of the terminal looked almost peaceful—like an ending disguised as calm.Lana stood at the edge of the bluff, arms folded against the cold. Her hair was damp from the mist, her skin ghosted with ash. Grey was a few paces behind, crouched by a half-dead fire he’d built from the remains of an old signal post.Neither of them spoke for a long time. The silence wasn’t comfort—it was distance.Finally, Grey rose, brushing soot from his hands. “We should move before daylight. The fire’s visible from miles.”Lana didn’t turn. “Let them see. The Directive’s already watching.”Grey exhaled slowly, fighting the urge to argue. “You heard Marcel. Whatever’s left of the Foundation—it’s buried deep. Systems like that don’t die easy. We need to disappear until we know how much he triggered.”Lana’s eyes tr