t started with a rustle.
Not the hiss of machinery or the hum of city circuits—but something rougher. Organic.
Ysel's hand went instantly to her coil-blade, Kael shifted in front of Eira, who stood slower this time, every nerve tight.
A grate in the wall—one they hadn't touched—rattled faintly.
Then a voice, muffled by steel and dust.
"Okay, I'm coming through. Nobody panic. I've got very sharp knees and zero social grace."
Kael blinked.
Eira's brow creased. "What?"
The grate popped loose.
A figure tumbled through, landing in a heap of scarves, tool belts, and layered fabric that looked like it had never been assigned, washed, or authorized. The person sat up slowly, rubbing their elbow with a wince.
They had shaggy black hair, goggles pushed up on their forehead, and one sleeve that had clearly been patched with what looked like printed cereal packaging.
Then, with all the nonchalance of someone commenting on the weather, they said:
"Wow. You three look like you just saw an Ashline and lived. Lucky."
Ysel didn't lower her blade. "Identify yourself."
"Sure," they said. "I'm Wren. Ex-registry tech. Ex-mental model candidate. Current enthusiast of abandoned infrastructure, trauma-induced independence, and breaking rules creatively."
Kael stepped forward, voice low. "You were following us."
"I mean, yeah." Wren grinned. "But only because your disruptor patterns were elegant. Very pretty electromagnetic footprints. Irresistible."
Eira watched them carefully. There was something strange about Wren—not just the way they spoke, but the way they looked at people. As if trying to figure out if they were real. Or still projections.
"You're not with the Registry anymore?" she asked.
"Ha! That's rich." Wren rolled up their sleeve, revealing a scarred port just below the wrist—charred shut, fused by something permanent. "I burned my node out two years ago. Felt like losing a limb and gaining a conscience."
Ysel still didn't lower the weapon.
"You could've led them here."
"I could've," Wren agreed, still smiling. "But if I had, you'd be memory mulch by now. I've been down here longer than your friend's been having his brooding stares."
Kael ignored the jab.
Eira stepped closer. "Why follow us?"
Wren tilted their head.
"Because you triggered Sector 9 Echo Core," they said. "And that place hasn't pinged live since the Memory Purges."
They pointed at Eira's hand.
"And whatever's in that shard? It just changed the game."
Silence hung for a moment.
Then Wren added brightly, "Also, I get lonely."
Wren sat cross-legged on the cracked floor, humming tunelessly as they disassembled a sensor jammer with a fork. Not a tool—an actual eating fork, bent into a shape that looked both chaotic and... genius.
Kael watched them warily from the wall, arms crossed. "You're too calm for someone hunted by the Registry."
"I'm too sleep-deprived to remember fear," Wren said brightly. "Besides, they already erased me once. Didn't stick."
Ysel hadn't put away her blade.
"People don't survive erasure."
Wren gave a crooked grin. "Exactly. That's what makes me interesting."
Eira hadn't spoken much since they'd arrived in the hidden sub-storage Wren called home. She sat with the shard in her hands, staring at it like it might vanish if she blinked.
"You knew what this was," she said finally.
Wren paused, the fork hanging midair.
"I didn't know. But I recognized the energy signature. The echo formatting. Very old. Very illegal."
They leaned forward, dropping the tool. "That's a core memory tether. The kind used during early recalibration trials—before they figured out how to burn things out cleanly."
Eira's voice was almost a whisper. "So... people made these. To save what was being taken."
Wren nodded, smile fading. "Yeah. Little secret safes for the soul."
Ysel finally stepped forward. "Why help us? You don't know us. You followed us like a scavenger."
Wren tilted their head. "You're not the first people I've seen get close to something real. But you're the first ones who listened. Most panic, turn around, report themselves out of guilt."
Kael frowned. "That's still not a reason to trust you."
"Nope." Wren stretched, arms behind their head. "I wouldn't trust me either."
They turned to Eira. "But you? You held that shard like it was your heart."
Eira's breath caught.
Wren continued, gentler now. "That's why I'm still talking. Because if you're brave enough to touch your past... you might be brave enough to change your future."
Silence settled again—thicker, heavier.
Ysel finally sheathed her blade. Slowly.
Kael looked at Wren, uncertain. "What do you want from us?"
"Honestly?" Wren shrugged. "A place to belong would be nice. Also, maybe... to matter."
They smiled, a little crooked.
Eira looked down at the shard in her hands.
And said, "Then prove it."
Wren's grin returned. "Deal."
They stood and pointed at a rusted terminal, barely powered.
"Let's find out what your mother left behind."