Shadows and Schemes-

A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, questions clawing for answers—but before he could utter a word, before he could even turn—

Asheron was gone.

Like smoke in the wind.

Like he had never been there at all.

The silence swallowed Keiran whole, leaving him standing in the middle of the factory floor, a strange weight pressing against his chest.

This was no longer just about keys, about escape, about freedom.

Something deeper was at play. Something far bigger than him.

And the worst part?

Asheron knew.

Asheron had always known.

Keiran forced himself to breathe.

The factory was still silent—too silent. The encounter with Asheron had left something lingering in the air, an invisible tension pressing against his skin. "You're in a story already written."

What the hell did that mean?

He shook his head. No time to think about it now. He still had a job to do.

The storage room. The keys.

He pressed on, moving deeper into the factory. His boots barely made a sound against the cold floor as he slipped past towering metal contraptions, their jagged forms casting long, reaching shadows.

The storage room was ahead.

The heavy wooden door was shut, but not locked. Keiran pressed his ear against it, listening. Nothing.

Slowly, carefully, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

Dust floated in the dim glow of a single lantern hanging from the ceiling.

Shelves lined the walls, stacked with crates, tools, and rusted machinery parts. But Keiran wasn't here for scrap metal—he was here for the key holder.

There. Mounted on the far wall.

Keiran's pulse quickened as he moved toward it. Dozens of keys. Different shapes, different sizes. One of them could be the tunnel key.

But which one?

He had seconds, maybe a minute at best before someone noticed his absence.

He reached up, fingers brushing over the cold metal. He could take all of them—no, that was too risky. He had to be smart.

Think.

Kennedy had taken Vael into the tunnels once before. He would have used a key—one that stood out.

Keiran's eyes scanned the row. There.

A single key, different from the others. Not iron, but brass. Older. Worn down from use.

That had to be it.

He grabbed it and turned to leave—

Then he heard footsteps.

Shit.

Keiran ducked behind a stack of crates just as the door creaked open.

A guard stepped inside, boots thudding against the floorboards. Heavy. Slow.

Keiran held his breath.

The guard grumbled something under his breath, stepping further in. He wasn't searching for anything—just checking. Routine patrol.

But if he lingered too long—

Keiran's fingers twitched. He needed a distraction.

His eyes darted around, searching for anything he could use. Then—he spotted it.

A small, rusted wrench resting on the crate beside him.

Carefully, he reached for it, fingers curling around the cold metal. He weighed it in his palm. Not too heavy, not too light. Just enough to make a sound.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he tossed it across the room.

Clang!

The wrench hit the far shelf, knocking over a pile of scrap metal.

The guard spun. "What the—?"

That was all Keiran needed.

In one smooth motion, he slipped through the door and into the dark.

Keiran's fingers curled around the brass key as he moved swiftly through the factory's dimly lit corridors. He couldn't leave—not yet.

The guards counted every child who entered and left the factory. If they noticed he was missing, suspicions would arise. He had to make it seem like he had never stayed behind.

The factory was massive, a labyrinth of rusted metal and towering machinery. It wasn't hard to find a hiding place, but finding one where he could last the entire night—that was the real challenge.

Keiran moved carefully, his ears tuned to the distant voices of patrolling guards. He slipped past the silent workstations, the acrid scent of oil and burning metal still clinging to the air.

Then, he found it.

A storage area in the far corner of the factory. Large crates, stacks of unused parts, and a single, dust-covered tarp.

Keiran slid behind a stack of metal scraps, pulling the tarp over himself. It wasn't perfect—but it would have to do.

As he settled in, the weight of exhaustion pressed down on him. His limbs ached from hours of tension, but sleep wouldn't come easily.

Not with Asheron's words still whispering in his mind.

"You're in a story already written, Keiran. Don't get ahead of your role."

The factory was a graveyard of rust and silence.

Keiran lay beneath the dust-covered tarp, his breath slow and controlled. The cold metal floor pressed against his back, seeping into his bones. He had managed to slip past the guards, hide himself away—but the night was far from over.

He still needed his coat.

His black coat, left behind, wasn't just something to wear. It was a piece of him, a symbol of the self he refused to lose in this wretched place. And more than that—he might need it to slip past the guards in the future.

The factory never truly slept. Pipes creaked. Metal groaned under the weight of time. Somewhere, far in the distance, steam hissed through unseen vents.

Keiran pushed off the tarp and rose to a crouch, listening.

The guards patrolled outside, but inside? Only the occasional footsteps of night watchers echoed in the vastness.

He could move.

Keiran slipped from his hiding place, sticking to the walls. The storage room where his coat was kept was on the far end of the factory, near the supervisor's office. That meant getting there was risky.

One mistake, one noise—he wouldn't make it to morning.

He moved between the shadows, calculating every step.

There—a guard.

Keiran pressed himself into the darkness behind a pile of scrap metal. He barely dared to breathe as the man walked past, boots clanking against the metal floor.

Seconds stretched.

Then—movement stopped.

Keiran's fingers curled into a fist. Had he been seen?

The guard exhaled, muttered something about "damn cold nights," then moved on.

Keiran let out a slow, silent breath.

He waited. Counted the seconds.

Then he moved.

Keiran had already secured the tunnel key earlier that night. A small, rusted thing—old, but still functional. He had tucked it safely into his belt before retreating to a hiding spot.

But now, as he stood before a locked room, he realized the weight of it. The last obstacle.

The factory's storage wasn't left unguarded. It was meant to be locked.

The keyhole was rusted, worn from years of use—but that wasn't the problem.

If he opened this door, it would be noticed in the morning.

A risk.

But one he had to take.

Keiran's fingers tightened around the key. He grabbed a key from the keyholder on the wall. Slowly, carefully, he slid it into the lock.

Click.

The door creaked open.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of metal and dust.

There—his coat.

It was folded over a crate, tossed aside like some worthless rag.

Keiran stepped forward and grabbed it, shaking off the dust. The moment he pulled it over his shoulders, he felt whole again.

Like a piece of himself had finally been restored.

Then—

A noise.

Keiran froze.

Bootsteps.

Heavy. Coming this way.

His heartbeat thundered. No time to escape.

He moved—fast—slipping behind a stack of crates, pressing himself into the shadows.

The door creaked open.

A guard.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped in, carrying a lantern that cast flickering light across the storage room. His face was hard, worn—one of Armon's trusted enforcers.

Keiran didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

The guard's eyes swept the room. Stopped on the crate where Keiran's coat had been.

For a second, he hesitated.

Keiran's fingers curled against the cold metal of the floor. If he noticed, if he raised the alarm—

The guard exhaled, muttered something under his breath, then—

He turned away.

Keiran stayed still as the door swung shut.

Seconds passed.

Then minutes.

Only when the footsteps faded completely did he move.

That had been close. Too close.

Keiran slipped out of the storage room and back into the darkness of the factory. He didn't go back to his old hiding spot—it was compromised.

Instead, he found shelter inside an abandoned maintenance tunnel.

He sat against the cold wall, letting his breathing slow.

He had his coat. He had the key.

Morning would come soon.

And when it did—

He would walk out of this factory just as he had entered it.

Unnoticed.

And one step closer to bringing this nightmare to its knees.