The moment I stepped through the passage, I felt it. Warmth.

Not the suffocating heat of the Underworld's dying machinery. Not the flickering, stagnant glow of artificial lights. This was different. It was soft, golden, and weightless.

I raised a hand, squinting against the brightness.

Is this the sun?

I had seen records of it, but I never knew it would be this blinding. Too much.

A strange tightness formed in my chest as I took another step, my boots sinking into something soft. I glanced down. Green, the color I rarely saw in the Underworld.

I knelt, hesitantly brushing my fingers against the strange surface.

And this is grass?

Cool and damp beneath my touch. My breath hitched. I had never felt anything like this before.

Then, the wind shifted. A soft breeze rolled past, carrying a scent so unfamiliar, so painfully fresh that I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. It smelled like nothing I had ever known. Not rust, not smoke, not decay.

For a moment, I forgot why I was here.

Then I heard something.

I snapped my head up. Across the park, figures moved with effortless grace, their voices low, their smiles even. A child ran through the grass, reaching for a floating drone.

They looked normal but felt wrong.

Their steps were too even. Their movements are too precise. Like clockwork, like pre-programmed responses. The warmth in their eyes never flickered, never wavered.

I swallowed hard.

And then, as quickly as the sun had appeared, it was gone.

The sky deepened into an endless indigo. A thousand pinpricks of light emerged, scattering across the heavens.

I had dreamed of this sight. Imagined it in stolen whispers, traced it in dust on broken walls.

Stars.

A shuddering breath escaped me. I tilted my head back, letting the sight fill me, afraid it would vanish if I blinked.

Then cold fingers wrapped around my wrist.

I barely had time to gasp before I was yanked backward, pulled into the shadows.

I twisted, hands flying toward my knife, but a grip like steel clamped down on me. A hand covered my mouth, pressing firm, calculated, mechanical.

"Struggling is inefficient."

The voice was devoid of emotion.

I froze.

Slowly, I turned my head—and met the cold, artificial gaze.

His face was eerily human, but the lifeless precision in his stare made my stomach churn. One of his eyes was cybernetic, whirring softly as it scanned me in microseconds.

"You are human," he stated.

Panic surged in my chest. Sentinel.

The Sentinels were The Master's enforcers. I had heard the stories—when they found humans, they never hesitated.

I tried to kick against him, but his hold didn't budge. Too strong. Too controlled.

"The Sentinels are near," he continued, voice eerily measured. "If they find you, you will be extracted."

Extracted. That word pounded in my ears.

But why is he saying it? Isn't he one of them?

I watched his eye flicker, rapid calculations running through whatever programming controlled him. Then, slowly, as if assessing a variable he hadn't considered, he let go.

I stumbled back, breath caught in my throat.

I should run. I should take my chances.

But something about the way he hesitated made my blood turn cold. His gaze remained locked onto me, calculating. For a split second, his cybernetic eye flickered rapidly—as if he was conflicted about something.

What happened?

From what I knew, Sentinels didn't hesitate. Sentinels didn't think for themselves.

Then his head twitched slightly—like he had just received new data.

His posture stiffened. His cybernetic eye flashed red.

"Another Sentinel is approaching."

Ice shot down my spine.

He turned his head toward the city, scanning, then back to me. His fingers curled slightly, as if making a decision.

And then, without a word, he grabbed my wrist again.

This time, he didn't restrain me.

This time, he pulled me with him.

I nearly tripped, but his grip remained firm, unyielding. He moved fast—too fast—his steps impossibly silent despite his weight. He maneuvered through the shadows with efficiency, leading me away.

I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think.

Why is he doing this?

"Where are you taking me?" My voice was barely a whisper.

His grip tightened. "Out of sight."

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I had no idea where he was taking me.

But one thing was clear—he wasn't handing me over to The Master.

Or maybe not yet?

For now, that was the only thing keeping me alive—not being extracted.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to steady.

"Why are you helping me?"

No answer came from him. Just his cybernetic eye whirred softly, scanning me again, lingering on my face as if searching for an answer he didn't have.

And for the first time, I saw it—uncertainty.

Without another word, he led me deeper into the shadows.