The corridor behind them faded into shadow as the group followed Nail deeper into the heart of Last Hope.
The air grew colder, more filtered. Every few meters, wall-mounted scanners flickered silently—reading heat signatures, data tags, even breath cadence. No alarms sounded, but the feeling of being watched was constant. The city wasn't just observing; it was measuring.
Fade walked near the front, his eyes roaming over every detail—the recessed lights, the ceiling ducts, the security drones that moved like shadows on rails above them. Every motion was calculated. Every presence, documented.
"This place gives me the creeps," Zeyna muttered, arms crossed. "Too clean."
"It's not designed to comfort," Kaela replied. "It's designed to function."
They passed a wall of blinking panels—some showed internal schematics, others flickered with fragments of citizen data. Nothing personalized. All codified.