The soldier’s rifle barrel vibrated with the tremor in his hands. His tactical visor, an archaic model compared to the sleek tech of the Curators, flickered with static as he kept them pinned under his aim. Behind him, three more silhouettes emerged from the service lift, their heavy boots crunching on the debris of the fallen cathedral. They were human, undeniably so, smelling of recycled air, dried sweat, and oil.
"I said identify!" the soldier repeated, his voice cracking. "Last chance before we clear this room."
Elian gritted his teeth, his entire body feeling like a shattered mosaic being held together by pure, unadulterated willpower. He looked at Sarah, whose hand was hovering inches from her discarded blade. She held back, sensing the same thing Elian did, these men weren't part
