Blackout settled over Garek, heavier than the silence. The automated voice had been calm, measured: *Oxygen levels critical. Time to depletion: 278 seconds.* He gripped the manual comm-line, the cool metal a faint anchor. His lungs dragged in shallow, ragged hitches, each one burning. The air already tasted stagnant, like wool shoved down his throat. He shut his eyes, and the void behind his lids swirled with phantom glare, a sterile echo of the surgical bay where he had spent his stolen childhood. “Garek? I hear you. Where are you? The comms are static, but I hear you!” Zova’s voice, rough with plaster dust, was a defiant spark across the dead circuit. It was a manual line, unpowered, a last resort. It functioned by copper thread alone, but it held. “Lower… utility vault,” he managed, the words scraping his throat. His head throbbed. The panic room had always been his fortified bunker, built to bar the nightmares. Now, it was an airtight coffin. The phantom chill of the lab’s hydro-bath wrapped around him, the scent of ethanol and fear. *They’re coming for you, boy. Always coming.* “The lower vault. Got it. Heading there now. How are you doing in there? Feeling a bit… lightheaded?” Her voice, though distorted by interference, still held that outrageous cheer, a ridiculous buoyancy in the face of imminent doom. It cut through the encroaching terror, pulling him back from the precipice of his memories. “Lightheaded is a clinical understatement, Zova. I’m starting to see iridescent jellyfish. What’s your ETA?” He leaned his forehead against the cold wall. The jellyfish swam closer, their tendrils brushing his mind. “Just passed the Sub-Level 3 maintenance junction. Almost there. You just keep talking, alright? Tell me about the Kyran Scholastic exams. What’s the capital of the Volkovian Dominion?” “Z’har. But that’s not on the Kynan curriculum, Zova. And I’m not sure I can focus on geopolitics when my brain cells are dying from lack of gas. Besides, I already know you’ll ace the entrance exam.” He didn’t mean to say that. The words slipped out, unfiltered, as the world began to tilt. A beat of static. “You… you think so?” Her voice was softer now, a rare crack in her usual bravado. “I know so. I… I’ve been grading your practice essays, Zova. The ones you leave on the kitchen counter.” He took another dry swallow of dead air. The confession felt like a dam breaking. “Your analysis of the Aethelian Treaty was brilliant. A-plus. You’ll be a credit to the Institute.” He could feel his eyelids growing heavy, the edges of his vision blurring. He was falling, and only her voice was catching him. Down in the unlit substructure, Zova slammed into the heavy steel doors of the core access panel. They were sealed, of course. Aegis Manor was a fortress, even against its own. The EMP had fried the automated locks. She could hear Garek’s rasping wheeze, fading out, through the manual handset still clutched in her grip. *210 seconds.* “An A-plus?” Zova scoffed, but a warmth spread through her chest, countering the chill of the concrete floor. “You’re just saying that because you’re about to suffocate and need me to hurry. What’s your real opinion, Sintra? Did I really ace it?” “I don’t lie, Zova. Not about important things. You write with a clarity… a perspective I haven’t encountered before.” His voice was raspy now, each word a monumental effort. “You have a unique mind. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” The compliment, so earnest, so raw, spurred a surge of adrenaline through Zova. Her muscle memory, the terrifying beast she usually suppressed, surged to the forefront, but this time, it was laced with a desperate urgency to *protect*. She gripped the seam of the heavy steel doors, her fingers finding purchase in the minute gap. The metal was cold, unyielding. It was meant to withstand explosions, not be pried open by a maid. “You really meant that, didn’t you?” she muttered, bracing her feet. “About the essay.” She didn’t wait for an answer. With a primal roar, she began to pull. Her knuckles turned white, then red, scraped raw against the unforgiving steel. A groan of tortured metal echoed in the dark as the seam widened, a fraction of an inch. “Zova… you need to know… I…” Garek’s voice was fading, blurring into the static. “I’ve grown accustomed to your presence. To… to your ridiculous pastries and your absurd questions. I… I need you here. I depend on you. More than you know.” His words, stripped bare of all his usual defenses, were a gasp, a plea. Zova screamed, a guttural sound of pure effort. Blood smeared across her palms, stinging, though the pain didn't slow her down. She didn’t just like this man; she was becoming fiercely protective of him. His grumpy demeanor, his hidden kindness, the vulnerability he showed only to her. He had called her presence an *addiction*. She didn’t know what that meant, not really, but it resonated deep within her. With a final, desperate heave, the doors groaned again, tearing free from a shattered inner lock. They shuddered open, revealing the small, pitch-black panic room. Zova stumbled in, her hands shaking, her vision still adjusting. Garek sat slumped against the reinforced bulkhead, his face gray, his eyelids fluttering. Consciousness was slipping, the wire still tangled in his grip. The air was thin, flat and metallic. “Garek!” Zova dropped the comm-line, her voice cracking. She reached him in two strides, throwing an arm around his waist, pulling him up. He was heavy, but her adrenaline-fueled strength was immense. He sagged against her, his head lolling onto her shoulder. “Zova… you came…” he whispered, his exhalation warm against her skin. “Always…” She half-carried, half-dragged him out of the vault, dropping with him onto the cold concrete flags. He slumped over her, and she didn't resist. They lay tangled together in the pitch, his arm limp across her ribs, his cheek settled in the crook of her neck. Her ribs expanded against his chest, catching the erratic strike of his pulse. Their faces were inches apart, the air between them charged, thick with the shared terror and the raw intimacy of their near-death. He stirred, his hand reaching up, a tremor running through his fingers as they brushed her jawline, his thumb caressing the sensitive skin beneath her ear. A guttural roar tore through the shadows. Not Garek’s, but a mechanical, thundering growl. The backup generators, finally kicking into life. A blinding flash of light erupted, illuminating the cavernous basement. Zova squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden brilliance, her arm tightening around Garek. When she opened them, the sight seized her chest. Corvan Daelus stood three paces away with a cold smirk, his strike team encircling them with carbines leveled at their heads.

Breathing in the Dark