The basement of the library was a graveyard of blueprints and forgotten municipal records. I sat on a stack of yellowed maps, the cold of the concrete seeping through my jeans, watching Elias and Kael prep the maintenance van. They were efficient—sharpening rebar, checking the pressure on the nail guns, talking in low, rhythmic tones that men use when they expect to be dead by dawn.

  I, however, was paralyzed by a single, terrifying thought: My entire plan was a hallucination.

  I had built this rescue on a foundation of "Resident Evil" logic and "Ouroboros" memories. I saw the locket on the Alpha in the street. I recognized the hum. I assumed that because the System had used my brother’s face, it must have preserved a fragment of his soul to act as the "Admin" of the district. I assumed the locket was the anchor.

  But I couldn't prove it.

  In the previous timeline, the Alphas were just bosses. You hit them until the HP bar emptied, and you looted the chest they dropped. I had never tried to *talk* to one. What if the locket was just a cruel cosmetic choice by the System? What if my brother was gone, and I was leading two good men into a meat grinder for a ghost?

  [SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: STAKEHOLDER ANALYSIS]

  [CURRENT PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: 14%]

  [NOTICE: EMOTIONAL BIAS DETECTED IN STRATEGY.]

  "Shut up," I whispered to the flickering violet text in my peripheral vision.

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  The System was right. I was a man who had already failed his brother once. I wasn't going to do it again just because the math was bad.

  Miller approached me then, holding a bottle of water. I looked at his hands—perfect, ten-fingered hands—and felt that devastating wave of loneliness. He was happy. He was terrified, but he still believed in a world where "The Army" was coming. I was glad he was spared the burden of the truth, even if it meant I was the only person in the building who was truly alone.

  "Hey," Miller said, sliding onto the crate next to me. "You’re doing that thing again where you look like you’re calculating the trajectory of a bullet."

  "Just thinking about the park, Miller."

  "You’re going to get him back, aren't you? Your brother?"

  I looked at Miller. I wanted to tell him that "getting him back" was impossible. That at best, I could get a few words before I had to put a crowbar through his skull. "I'm going to find out if he's still in there. That's all I can promise."

  "Sarah’s worried, you know. She won't say it, but she’s been staring at that stairwell door since you went down there."

  "Keep her away from the windows," I said, my voice hardening. "No matter what happens, no matter what noises you hear coming from the park... do not let her leave this building."

  I stood up, the 'Veteran's Calm' sliding back into place like a protective visor. I couldn't afford the luxury of doubt anymore. If I was wrong about the locket, I was a dead man. If I was right, I was a murderer. Either way, the basement was no longer an option.

  Elias walked over, tapping the side of his modified nail gun. "Van’s ready, Jax. We’ve got enough fuel for a one-way trip to the park gates and maybe five minutes of idling. After that, we’re on foot."

  "One way is all we need," I said.

  I looked at Mrs. Gable across the room. She was still fussing with her floral hat, oblivious to the fact that I had watched her die in a laundry room a lifetime ago. I felt a surge of protective fury. I was the only person carrying the memory of her death, and I would be the only one to ensure it didn't happen again.

  "Let's move," I commanded.

  We climbed into the van. The engine sputtered, a choked, mechanical cough that sounded far too loud in the silence of the library. As the garage door groaned open, the violet fog poured in like a physical weight.

  I checked the duct tape on my forearm. I checked the iron bar.

  I was heading into the heart of a territory claimed by a monster I used to share a bedroom with. I had no evidence, no proof, and no backup other than two men who thought I was a genius.

  The van lurched forward. We were no longer survivors. We were intruders.