The room hadn't returned to normal.
Even hours after the device's activation, the air in Kaia's safehouse felt charged—like time itself had been bruised.
Elian sat on the floor, knees drawn up, the device resting between his palms like a sleeping animal. He couldn't shake the image from the screen: stacked capsules, row after row of frozen people suspended in that impossible vault. There were hundreds. Maybe thousands.
Maybe more.
Kaia paced behind him, her boots clicking softly on the poly-ceramic floor. "They're not just storing time," she said. "They're storing people."
Elian looked up. "How?"
"They freeze individuals at the moment their time balance hits zero. No expiration. Just… pause." Her voice grew sharper. "They tell the world the expired are gone. Erased. That's the fear they sell. But the truth? They're assets. Kept for control. Or worse—mined."
Elian's stomach twisted. "You think they're extracting something from them?"
Kaia nodded. "Dream data. Neural decay patterns. Maybe raw temporal energy. I don't know. But I've seen the funding trails—ChronoCorp pays billions in silence to keep the Vaults buried in rumor."
"And now I've got the key."
She sat beside him, sighing heavily. "Which means we have maybe forty-eight hours before you're flagged as a systemic threat."
Elian tried to breathe through the panic. The device felt heavier now. Not just because of what it was—because of what it meant. There was no running anymore.
Only forward.
"We need access," he said.
"To the Vault?" Kaia asked.
"No. To the records. If I can trace when those people were taken, who they were… I can expose the lie. It's not just about survival anymore."
Kaia looked at him, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. She was quiet for a moment.
Then: "There's one place that keeps unfiltered expiration records. Off-grid. Analog backups."
Elian blinked. "Analog?"
She smirked. "Old tech. Paper files. Static ink. It's where ChronoCorp buries things it doesn't want accidentally uncovered by AI."
"Where?"
Kaia's smile vanished.
"The Underdata Library."
They reached the outskirts of Zone 12 just after midnight. The district was long abandoned—part of the urban skeleton left behind when the Time Credit System took over full infrastructure control. Wind pushed ash across fractured pavement. Burnt-out windows watched them pass like blind eyes.
The Library was buried inside an old law archive, fire-gutted decades ago and rebuilt with private capital. Rumors said it was run by a data cult that worshipped pre-digital history—Archivists, fanatics who believed memory was sacred and untouchable.
Kaia led him through a half-collapsed tunnel, then stopped at a steel door carved with an unfamiliar symbol: a serpent eating its own tail.
She knocked three times. Waited. Knocked once more.
A narrow slot opened.
Eyes.
Then: "Password?"
Kaia inhaled. "'Nothing is lost that can be remembered.'"
A pause. Then the door unlatched.
The scent of dust and old paper flooded out.
Inside, light was warm and gold, flickering from a thousand filament bulbs. Shelves stretched endlessly, all packed with neatly labeled folders, reels, and ink-stamped logs. No screens. No noise. Just the quiet weight of knowledge.
A tall man in brown robes approached. His voice was soft but firm. "Kaia Tran. It's been years."
Kaia bowed slightly. "I need access to the Decommissioned Expiration Logs. Priority level: Ascendant."
The Archivist frowned. "That's restricted."
She nodded at Elian. "He has the device."
That gave him pause.
After a beat, the Archivist turned. "Follow me."
In a sealed room at the heart of the Library, they placed the device on a brass pedestal. Kaia handed Elian a leather-bound logbook.
"Start here," she said. "These are people who vanished without countdowns. If they match any faces from what you saw—"
Elian flipped open the first page.
He froze.
There, on the second line, was a name he'd hoped never to see again.
VOSS, AELIA – 00.0 YRS – TRANSFER UNKNOWN – DECEASED (UNVERIFIED)
His mother.
"Kaia…" His voice cracked. "She's on the list."
Kaia stepped beside him. "Are you sure?"
"She's supposed to be dead." His hands trembled. "But it says 'unverified.' That means she could be—"
Kaia touched his shoulder, gently grounding him. "Then we find out."
The device pulsed softly.
And for the first time, Elian felt something he hadn't in years.
Not panic.
Not fear.
Hope.