Kael didn't speak on the way back.
He walked ahead of the others, Frame still partially active, his core dim but steady. No helmet. No questions.
Juno watched him for most of the trip.
Mira didn't ask what he saw.
Even Ryke, who normally said nothing, looked like he was waiting for something that never came.
Back at the shelter, the tension followed them in.
The lights flickered once—just once—and stayed on.
Kael sat alone at the lower table, staring at his hands like he was expecting them to fall apart.
Mira set her gear down nearby.
"You're different."
Kael didn't answer.
She waited.
"Was it a trap?" she asked.
He finally looked up.
"No."
She sat across from him. "Then what was it?"
"A record," he said. "A failure. I saw what happened to the first ones."
Juno stopped halfway through sharpening her blade.
Ryke looked up.
"They didn't survive it," Kael said. "They synced. But it broke them."
The room stayed quiet.
Mira leaned forward. "So why are we still standing?"
Kael held up his Frame core. It glowed soft red.
"They weren't chosen," he said. "They were inserted—into a system that wasn't finished."
"And us?"
Kael looked at the core for a long time.
"We're the reset."
Later that night, Mira ran a surface scan of Lunaris.
Just routine.
Only this time—she caught something.
A pulse.
Not from underground.
From above.
She widened the scan radius. Rechecked the feed.
Dozens of surveillance satellites.
All reorienting.
Pointing down.
Not at the city.
At them.
Meanwhile, in the slums near Sector 9, a child stared up at the sky and covered her ears.
"It's too loud," she whispered. "It's saying his name again."
Her mother tried to pull her away, but the girl shook violently.
"Red boy," she cried. "Red boy woke it up!"
Back in the shelter, Kael sat awake.
The others had drifted off.
But he hadn't.
The core buzzed faintly in his chest.
Not loud.
Not dangerous.
Just… constant.
A reminder.
That something was watching.