Kael leaned over Ayla's shoulder, his arms crossed tightly, as if bracing against the unease building inside him. The fragments of decrypted files displayed on the screen before them were maddeningly incomplete—jagged edges of a puzzle that refused to form a picture. Ayla was perched on a stool, her focus entirely on the terminal before her. Her fingers tapped rapidly, punctuating the otherwise tense silence.

  "There's something buried here," she murmured, more to herself than to Kael. "This encryption is overkill, even for them. Whoever who locked this down really didn't want anyone finding it."

  Kael straightened. The words on it blurred in his mind, a tangle of technical jargon and fragmented data points. "If it's this well-protected, it has to mean something."

  "Exactly," Ayla replied. "Facility 12-B isn't just another secret. It's something bigger. Something they're desperate to keep hidden."

  Her words stirred a mix of unease and anger Kael hadn't yet learned to temper. He turned away, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced the narrow room. Without the NeuraSphere's steady suppression, his emotions surged through him relentlessly, leaving him raw in ways he couldn't control.

  "You're pacing," Ayla said without looking up. Her voice carried a hint of amusement. "You know that doesn't make me work any faster."

  "I'm not pacing," Kael retorted, though his steps faltered.

  "You are," she said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "And you're tense. Let me guess—anger, confusion, and... a touch of existential dread?"

  Kael shot her a look, but there was no bite to it. "Funny."

  Ayla's smirk softened, and she gestured for him to sit. "This isn't easy for either of us. But standing there looking like you're ready to burst isn't helping."

  Kael hesitated, then sank into the rickety chair across from her. His hands fidgeted on his lap, his fingers tracing the seams of his uniform. "This... feeling everything," he admitted quietly, "it's overwhelming."

  Ayla looked at him. "It doesn't get easier," she said, her tone losing its edge. "Not really. But you learn to live with it. And eventually, you learn to use it."

  "Use it?" Kael echoed, skeptical.

  "For strength. For clarity." Her voice was steady, her conviction palpable. "The Concord teaches you to fear emotions because they know what they can do—how they can drive you to question, to resist. They suppress them because emotions are powerful."

  The truth of her words settled heavily on him, like stones dropped into a still pool. He'd believed that suppression was safety, that the NeuraSphere protected him. His father used to say as much—always pragmatic, always loyal to The Concord. Maric had been a staunch believer in its promises, his work on the NeuraSphere network giving him a front-row seat to the chaos their absence supposedly caused.

  Yet his mother, Lia, had told a different story in whispers—of a time when people felt freely, when laughter and grief were real and unscripted. Those rare, hushed moments had always ended with her falling silent, eyes darting to the walls as if they could listen.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  A sharp beep from the terminal broke the moment. Ayla's head snapped back to the screen, her focus sharpening. "I've got something," she said.

  Kael leaned forward, his heart quickening. "What is it?"

  "It's a log—fragments of activity reports from Facility 12-B," Ayla explained. Her eyes scanned the screen. "Emotion extraction protocols. Phases one through three. Here—look."

  Kael frowned. "What does that mean?"

  "I'm not sure," Ayla replied tensely. "But it's tied to something called 'Emotion Cells.' They're mentioned repeatedly in the files, but there's no clear explanation of what they are or how they're created."

  Kael's stomach churned. "From people?"

  "That's what I think," Ayla said, her voice heavy with disgust. She gestured to the screen, where lines of data scrolled by. "These logs—they detail specific parameters. Neural activity levels, emotional intensities, suppression thresholds. It's clinical, detached, but it's clear they're measuring something."

  Kael clenched his fists. "Why would they need to harvest emotions? What could they possibly do with them?"

  "That's what we need to find out," Ayla replied. Her tone was steady, but Kael could see the tension in her jaw, the unease she tried to mask. "Whatever Facility 12-B is, it's not just about suppressing emotions anymore. It's about exploiting them."

  Kael felt a chill run through him. The idea of The Concord manipulating emotions wasn't new—they'd been doing it for decades through the NeuraSpheres. But this... this was something darker.

  Another beep from the terminal drew their attention. Ayla cursed under her breath, her fingers tapping the keyboard. "The encryption's shifting. They've built in countermeasures—probably to erase the data if it's accessed too many times."

  "Can you stop it?" Kael asked, his voice taut.

  "I'm trying," Ayla snapped. "But I need more time."

  Kael stood, his eyes darting to the room's entrance as a wave of paranoia washed over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that The Concord's gaze was closing in.

  "What happens if you can't crack it?" he asked tensely.

  "Then we go to the facility," Ayla said without hesitation. "We find the answers ourselves."

  The idea sent a chill through Kael. He thought of the enforcers, the drones, the cold efficiency of the operation they'd seen. Entering that place felt like walking into a trap.

  Another line of data scrolled across the screen. Ayla's eyes widened, and she leaned closer. "Wait... here. 'High-priority extraction subjects. Sustained emotional output levels required for... stabilization.'"

  "Stabilization of what?" Kael asked.

  "I don't know," Ayla replied, frustrated. "But whatever it is, it's connected to these Emotion Cells. And the subjects—they're not just random citizens. These logs mention deliberate selection criteria. Specific emotional thresholds."

  Kael's thoughts drifted to his days at The Concord Academy, where students were groomed for loyalty. Compliance had been rewarded, but those who faltered—like Jaren—were quietly removed. The memory of his friend's disappearance gave him a sudden clarity.

  "They're targeting people who resist," he said, the words more of a realization than a question.

  "Exactly," Ayla said. "The ones who feel too much. The ones they can't control."

  The weight of her words settled heavily on Kael. For years, he'd been a part of the system that hunted those people. He'd believed he was maintaining order. But now, he saw the truth—he'd been delivering them into the hands of a system that exploited their humanity.

  Ayla's voice broke through his thoughts. "Kael, look at me."

  He turned to her, his expression tense.

  "This isn't just about us," she said. "If we're right—if Facility 12-B is harvesting emotions—then The Concord is more dangerous than we ever imagined. And it's up to us to stop them."

  Kael swallowed hard. He nodded, his resolve hardening. "What's the next step?"

  Ayla's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "We go to Facility 12-B. And we find out exactly what they're hiding."

  Facility 12-B loomed like a shadow over everything, its secrets tantalizingly close yet maddeningly out of reach. And as they prepared to leave, Kael couldn't shake the feeling that whatever lay ahead would change everything—about The Concord, about himself, and about the world he thought he knew.