Chapter 26: Ghost Key Protocol

"They treat me like a variable they can predict. That's their mistake."

Ava muttered the words under her breath as she pulled her dark hair into a low knot, the final touch to her fabricated identity. The synthetic coat assigned to energy evaluators sat snug on her shoulders—clean, stiff, and soulless. Just like the halls of Sublevel 4.

Her badge gleamed under sterile lights. Authentic in appearance, but in truth it was a Frankenstein of seventeen outdated profiles, tied together by Elliot's signature blend of subtle genius and outright contempt for regulations.

Officially, she was Ava Lin, secondary-class analyst assigned to assess the energy fluctuations of Outworlder 12-7.

Unofficially?

This was treason.

And she was walking into it willingly.

---

In her earpiece, Elliot's voice came through, calm as ever. "Looping corridor 9-A. You've got a four-second visual dead zone every fifteen seconds. Run like a shadow."

"Enough to ghost through?"

"If your legs don't freeze."

Ava smirked. "Watch me."

---

The corridor was cold, the lighting lowered for night-cycle protocols. Two guards stood near the door to Isolation, discussing something unimportant. They barely glanced at her. Why would they? The system had no alert protocol for Ava Lin.

They thought she was predictable.

That was their mistake.

At the first gap in the camera loop, she moved.

No hesitation. No noise. One heartbeat. Then another.

Her ID chip synced with the door panel. A short hiss, a sterile click—and the door to the Isolation wing opened.

She slipped inside.

And stopped.

---

Elren was waiting.

Not like a guard.

Like someone who'd known she would come.

He stood in the center of the corridor, between her and the containment door, hands behind his back, coat immaculate, face unreadable.

But his eyes were not cold.

They were—ready.

"I figured it would be you," he said softly.

Ava's heart skipped. "You're not going to stop me?"

He didn't move. "I'm not here for that."

She stared at him, unsure. "Then why are you here?"

He stepped closer, his voice low. "Because I knew this system would push you to this point. It always would. You were never meant to serve it. And I was never meant to watch you get crushed by it."

Ava's throat tightened. "You're not surprised."

"No," Elren said simply. "I would've been more surprised if you hadn't tried."

Her lips parted. "Then what now? You report me? Stand aside and let me burn for this?"

"I stand with you."

She blinked.

"What?"

"I'll go with you," he said again, firmer. "I know what's waiting beyond this. I don't care."

Ava's walls began to crack.

"You don't even know what I'm planning."

"I know enough," he said, stepping forward until they were nearly face to face. "You're going to break him out. You'll risk everything to save someone the system already decided isn't worth saving. And I know what that makes you."

She swallowed. "And what's that?"

He didn't answer right away.

Then: "Human."

---

They entered the chamber together.

Elliot had already moved, pulling data feeds and syncing false alarms to keep the sensors blind. The boy—Outworlder 12-7—lay unmoving on the slab of a table, bound in quiet agony. His breathing was shallow. Tubes coiled around his chest like vines strangling a tree.

Ava flinched at the sight. "He's just a kid."

Elliot didn't look up. "And in two minutes, they're transferring him to Central."

Ava moved to the restraints, but her hands shook.

Elren came beside her, wordless, and started undoing the secondary clamps. His movements were practiced, precise—deliberate.

She glanced at him. "You've done this before."

"I've wanted to," he said quietly. "Now I am."

The boy stirred. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused.

When he saw them, he recoiled.

"Hey," Ava whispered, kneeling down. "We're not here to hurt you. We're getting you out."

"Why?" His voice was dry, a rasp.

She hesitated.

Elliot answered from the console. "Because they said we couldn't."

---

The moment the last restraint came off, the system screamed.

CONTAINMENT BREACH DETECTED.

LOCKDOWN INITIATED.

Elren moved first. "Go. I'll cover the rear."

Drones burst from ceiling panels, blue lights blinking to life.

Ava raised a hand and launched a kinetic wave—one drone shattered midair. Elliot was already opening the door, fingers flying across his drivepad.

"The hydro waste shaft is clear—barely. But you've got thirty seconds before this place eats itself."

Elren picked up the boy without hesitation, his coat already dark with sweat and dust.

"Stay with me," he muttered to the child. "You're not alone anymore."

They ran.

---

Hall after hall blurred red, alarm lights flashing against their skin. The boy moaned weakly in Elren's arms, and Ava reached back, brushing her fingers against his.

"You're okay. We've got you."

Elren didn't speak, but he held the boy tighter.

The final gate was closing—Elliot dove forward and jammed the manual override with a surge of overcharged power. Sparks flew. Metal screamed.

They tumbled through.

---

The old relay station was dead quiet.

No cameras. No sensors. No voices but their own breathing.

Ava collapsed to her knees beside the boy, who had passed out from exhaustion.

Elliot slumped against the far wall. "Well. That was suicidal."

Elren stood, still as stone, eyes fixed on Ava.

"There's no going back now," he said.

Elliot gave a bitter laugh. "Was there ever?"

Ava looked at them both. "We made a choice. Now we protect him. No matter what."

---

They sat in silence as the boy slept.

Elliot dozed against the wall. Ava remained seated on the floor, knees pulled up, fingers idly tracing the pattern of the floor grate.

Elren was across from her, arms folded, his expression unreadable.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then—softly—Ava said, "You didn't have to come."

"I know."

"You didn't even try to stop me."

"I wouldn't."

She turned to him, really looked. "Why?"

Elren met her eyes, and there it was—something raw, unspoken.

"I don't know when it started," he said. "But somewhere between arguing with you every morning and memorizing the way you roll your eyes when you think I'm being arrogant… I stopped believing the system knew what it was doing."

Ava swallowed.

"Elren…"

He shook his head. "You don't have to say it."

She looked away. "I wasn't going to."

He laughed, low. "Obviously."

A moment passed.

Then, without looking up, she said, "This doesn't change anything."

"I know."

"It can't."

"Still. I'd do it again."

That made her chest hurt more than she expected.

---

Far above, deep inside the glass shell of Central Command, a woman in obsidian-black stood before a large monitor.

The footage was static-laced. Incomplete.

But the image was clear: Ava crossing the red line. Elren beside her. The boy in their arms.

The woman leaned forward, a thin smile on her face.

"So," she said. "She's begun."