Chapter 51: Shadows and Schematics

The wind howled beyond the hangar's reinforced walls, but inside the jet, all was still. The sleek black craft sat like a blade on a whetstone—silent, waiting. Its systems thrummed with the low-pulse readiness of something engineered for stealth and speed.

Elira stood in the cockpit, fingers running over the holographic controls as she initiated the pre-flight sequence. Her body moved with efficient grace, but her mind wandered elsewhere—sifting through layers of decisions and consequences.

Behind her, Fenrir sat on the diagnostics bench, eyes closed, breath even. His systems were cycling. She could see subtle flickers under his skin—thermal veins adjusting, neural lightstreams reordering themselves as his body acclimatised to the Shadow Mask she had coded into him.

He looked at peace. The first time in days.

Elira returned her attention to the interface, entering the coordinates for the Pattern Core—a buried echo in northern Siberia's ice-worn expanse. With each digit keyed in, the weight of their mission settled deeper on her shoulders. The Pattern Core was more than a relic; it was a door. And behind that door lay answers they could no longer wait for.

As the final coordinate locked into place, her mind drifted to Brakka and Vranos. Two of the four. She knew she couldn't take them along—not yet. They weren't ready. Too many secrets still spun around them like dormant blades.

They were unpredictable.

And so she had chosen Fenrir. Not just because he had nothing left to lose, but because he had chosen her back - again and again, even in silence, even in doubt. He was the one who had faced death and broken servitors without flinching.

For now, he was enough.

Elira made a mental note: observe the scientist's reaction. See how he responded once Fenrir began acting against instruction. If the scientist truly had a failsafe, it would activate soon. And if not, that told her even more.

Her thoughts shifted again, now toward the decoy core.

Crafted under the scientist's direction, it was nearly perfect—resonant echoes, adaptive protocols, surface-level access that mimicked the real Purpose Core's interface. Still, it lacked the deeper harmonic sequence. It could deceive Makel for a while, but not forever.

How long before he knows? she wondered.Three days? Five? Enough.

She glanced back toward Fenrir, who was now stretching his arms out with a fluid ease. His eyes met hers—clear, unclouded—and for the first time in days, a faint smile touched his lips.

That simple expression made her pause.

In that moment, Elira realized what they were—accomplices, yes, but something more dangerous too. A pair of rebels. Not to Makel, or Dray, or the nameless factions warring below the surface. They were rebels to the system itself. Unbound. Untethered. Quiet flames licking through the circuitry of old control.

Elira activated a private, non-traceable channel and sent a simple burst message to Brakka and Vranos.

"Off-grid for a while. Hold the fort. Trust no uplinks."

No signature. No reply expected.

She took the pilot's chair. Fenrir slid into the co-pilot's seat beside her, fully awake now, presence sharp and grounded. The jet's canopy sealed shut with a soft hiss.

Elira looked at him one last time before engaging the thrusters. "Ready?"

Fenrir smirked. "Been ready since you broke the gate."

With a roar swallowed quickly by sound-cancellation fields, the jet lifted. It rose into the swirling cloud-cover, and within moments, vanished into the northern sky.

Their destination: ice, code, and whatever waited in the bones of Pattern.