The cafeteria was quieter than usual. Most trays sat untouched, steam curling off oatmeal no one wanted. The staffers moved between tables, eyes scanning, voices hushed. A crackling PA announcement buzzed overhead, warning of another lockdown shift change. Outside, muted sirens echoed through the thick city haze, blending with the distant clang of metal gates sealing shut.

  We sat together at the edge of the room, every sense tuned to the rhythm of the place. Jamie kept glancing at the clock above the serving window, tapping her foot like she was counting down to a storm. Luis picked at his food, fingers tracing nervous circles on the table. Ethan fiddled with a cracked bracelet, his thumb rubbing the worn charm for luck. None of us spoke about what happened to kids who stayed too long—missing faces, blank spots at roll call, the kind of quiet that lingered after. Or what the next shift might bring if we weren’t gone. Rumors said the shifts made you forget. Sometimes more than just your name.

  Luis’s usual calm wavered, a faint shimmer flickering in his blue eyes—the mark of his kind. Jamie’s gaze swept over us, and for just a heartbeat, her eyes flashed green. She nudged Ethan, whispering, “Don’t drop the badge this time.” He scowled back, but squeezed my hand tighter. My stomach twisted.

  Jamie stood first, slow and casual, carrying her tray toward the trash like just another kid clearing her plate. Luis followed a heartbeat later, shoulders tense but steady. Then me and Ethan. We slid through the room as one, heads down, like we’d done it a hundred times—just a group of tired kids cleaning up after breakfast.

  The hallway near the kitchen was half-lit and empty, save for the hum of the drink machine and the faint click of a distant radio playing a scratchy old tune. Jamie’s fingers brushed the wall, searching for the seam Luis had described.

  He found it—just a faint outline in the chipped paint. A narrow door, no handle, but a dull keycard slot. My heart hammered—any louder and it’d give us away.

  Luis pulled a badge from his pocket—stolen, borrowed, never asked. He swiped it.

  A green light blinked.

  The door hissed open, breathing out dust and cold metal.

  We slipped inside, one by one, the door sighing shut behind us.

  For the first time in days, silence wrapped around us—equal parts relief and terror.

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  The darkness swallowed us, thick and absolute. We stood still, breathing in the metallic chill and listening for signs we’d been followed. Nothing—just the distant thrum of the building’s guts and Ethan’s shaky breaths.

  Jamie flicked on the tiny penlight she’d stashed in her sleeve. Its beam cut a trembling path down the narrow corridor, glinting off pipes and peeling insulation. The walls closed in, almost claustrophobic, the floor sloping gently downward. Somewhere in the distance, water dripped—a steady rhythm counting the seconds before someone noticed we were gone.

  Luis took the lead, his sneakers whispering over grit. His blue eyes glowed faintly, a shadowy mist swirling around him—the silent sign of his true nature. Jamie kept checking over her shoulder, jaw clenched tight. Every so often, a faint green gleam flashed in her eyes—the mark of envy she carried. “If you hear anything, you tell me. No hero moves,” she muttered, voice low enough for just us.

  I held Ethan’s hand, squeezing every time his grip slipped. He leaned in, whispering, “Promise you won’t let them take me if I forget.” I nodded, even though we both knew promises didn’t mean much in the shifts.

  We moved fast but careful. Every footstep felt too loud, every breath too sharp. The passage twisted, dipping beneath a tangle of old cables. A faded sign hung crooked on the wall: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

  A cracked toy robot lay abandoned in a puddle, its glass eye broken but still reflecting the penlight’s faint glow. A ghost of a life long gone.

  “Does this even go where we think it does?” I whispered.

  Jamie shot me a look. “It’s gotta. There’s nowhere else.” Luis rolled his eyes and muttered, “You want to go back?”

  We pressed on, hearts pounding. The air grew heavier with each step, the silence pressing in. At the far end, pale light leaked through a crack in another door—battered, marked with an orange X.

  Luis pressed his ear against it, listening. After a moment, he nodded.

  Beyond the door, a faint mechanical hum stirred—a distant machine waking.

  This was it. No turning back.

  The air tasted of rust and secrets. For a moment, I thought I heard footsteps behind us—just the echo of my own fear. Luis’s hand trembled on the door. Jamie looked back one last time, her emerald eyes flashing with something fierce and unresolved.

  Then we stepped through, hearts racing, into the unknown.

  Somewhere behind us, the sirens started again. I gripped Ethan’s hand and told myself—whatever we found, we’d face it together. Even if it meant forgetting who we were.

  The door swung open into a vast chamber, dimly lit by flickering overhead panels. Shadows pooled in the corners, swallowing details whole. The air smelled stale, heavy with grime and something else—something metallic and sharp.

  Luis moved forward, his blue eyes piercing the gloom. The faint mist around him thickened, curling like silent smoke. Jamie stayed close to my side, her green gaze sharp, scanning every shadow. I could feel the weight of her envy beneath the surface—like a silent hunger ready to snap.

  Ethan clung to my hand tighter, voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think this place is really safe?”

  I swallowed hard. “It has to be. The safe zone isn’t just a spot on a map—it’s the only place that keeps the system’s reach at bay. Outside, everything’s monitored, controlled. You don’t belong unless it says so.”