Page 103 of The Atom Between Us

Maven’s mouth twitched, maybe a smile. “You always were good at that. Survival.”

Kang moved, just a step closer. “We’re not safe here,” he said. “Petrov will send patrols. Maybe drones. You know the schedule?”

Maven didn’t look at him, just kept their eyes on me. “He’s right.”

I slumped forward, head in my hands, blood and sweat and the stink of Authority seeping from every pore. For a minute, no one spoke. Then Maven crouched in front of me, their voice softening. “You all right?”

“Not even close,” I said. “But I’ll fake it.”

They nodded, the two of us just looking at each other, measuring the damage. I felt something crack at the back of my throat and tried to swallow it down.

Maven’s voice was a murmur, meant for me alone. “We heard you died. Some of the cells—they made you a martyr.”

I laughed, a small, broken sound. “Then I guess I disappointed them.”

“No,” Maven said, and reached out, touched the edge of my chin with their ruined hand. “You scared the Authority. You broke their favorite toy.”

The contact was electric, sent a shiver down my spine. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Kang watching, his jaw flexed, eyes narrowed as if he was doing calculus in his head.

Maven straightened, then clapped a hand on Kang’s shoulder. “You did the right thing, bringing her here. Even if you are Authority.” The last word was half-joke, half-accusation.

Kang didn’t flinch. “Not anymore.”

Maven’s gaze turned clinical. “Can I trust you?”

Kang met their eyes, green and steady. “You don’t have a choice.”

Maven laughed, low and surprised. “Fair,” they said, then gestured toward a second corridor, this one descending into dark. “Come on. The others are waiting.”

We walked in silence, my whole body humming with exhaustion and adrenaline. Every time I stumbled, Kang’s hand caught my elbow, gentle, but he let go the moment I regained my balance. Maven led us through a maze of tunnels—some natural, some carved by Authority decades ago.

Maven stopped abruptly in front of a massive, industrial door, its surface scarred with rust and age. They ran their hand over the cold metal, then rapped on it three times in a precise rhythm. “Nightfall whispers,” their voice calm but commanding.

A deep, mechanical grinding echoed from the other side. Slowly, the door began to unlatch, moving with a deliberate, almost sentient patience. Maven turned back to us, eyes sharp and calculating. They gave a curt nod, then tapped two fingers to their eyes before pointing them at Kang, a smirk tugging at their mouth. The message was clear: they were watching him. Then Maven stepped aside, letting the heavy door swing open.

I let my eyes close, the last image in my head Kang’s face, open and uncertain.

Maybe there was a world where we could both survive. Maybe not.

But I was still alive, and that counted for something.

The steel door sighed open and a plume of cold rolled out like breath from a buried animal. Maven dropped down first, boots hitting the rungs without a sound. I followed, Kang close behind, and the hatch swung shut above us with a soft, final click — daylight gone, pursuit sealed out. The Authority always spoke of the underground as a myth — ghosts and mutants, rats whispering on stolen radios — but the recycled air was real enough, metallic and cold against my skin as we sank into the tunnel’s throat.

The ladder ended on a grate so cold it bit through my boots. A single bare bulb swung overhead, throwing a pendulum of shadow across the concrete. Waiting at the base was a man built like a bulkhead, head shaved to stubble, face mapped with scars that said he’d fought for every inch of freedom. Authority armor patched over civilian canvas clung to his torso. His left hand rested just shy of a battered sidearm, thumb brushing the worn grip.

Maven landed and gave him a curt nod that could pass for greeting or warning. His gaze flicked across me, over the bandage at my shoulder, then locked on Kang and stayed there.

“Who’s the tourist?” His voice was gravel dragged across steel.

“Ex-Authority,” Maven said. “He’s with us.”

The man spat and rolled his shoulders, contempt sliding off like water. “No one’s with you down here until I say so.”

Kang stiffened. It wasn’t the threat that cut him — it was the reminder he was no one’s superior anymore.

Maven let the silence stretch. “We’re late,” they said at last. “Petrov’s hunting. If you want to take it up with him, be my guest.”

The guard grunted. “They’re in the bowl,” he said, jerking his chin toward the dark. Then to Kang, low: “Lose the Authority face. Don’t mean a thing here.”