Chapter 41 #2
Maven turned back to us. Their gaze flicked to me, then Kang— a quick, professional nod — before cutting to Kang.
They didn’t say a word, just tapped two fingers against their temple and smirked, a little gesture that said I’m watching you.
Then they swung their coat back into place and stepped aside to let us pass.
Kang’s jaw tightened at the look but he didn’t rise to it. His hand brushed my elbow instead, guiding me forward without touching, and the weight of it was steadier than I wanted to admit. My pulse kicked up as we crossed the threshold, the door’s breath still spilling over my skin.
Beyond was only dim light and the promise of answers. I stepped through, Maven’s smirk still flickering in my peripheral vision, Kang’s shadow a silent guard at my back.
The hall beyond the Conclave door ran far longer than I’d expected—long enough for the tension to breed and multiply.
Each footstep echoed off the concrete like we were being followed by ghosts.
The corridor bent and doubled back on itself, past rooms closed off with tarps, alcoves stacked with boxes marked MED or FUEL, and people posted at intervals like living checkpoints.
Some just watched, flat-eyed. Others whispered, voices pitched low but not low enough.
“Authority,” someone hissed, staring at Kang as if he might detonate on command.
“Heard she killed three in the pit,” another muttered, and I couldn’t tell if the awe was fear or hope.
I kept my head down but used my hair as a curtain to watch.
The way they looked at me was different than how they looked at him.
Kang they hated. Me they studied, like a problem that might also be a cure.
A few nods, one quick smile from a girl with unevenly clipped hair and eyes bright with a kind of worship—it made me want to run.
Kang felt the attention too. Authority steel slid back into his spine, his scowl reflexively locked in place. Once it had made him invisible; here it just marked him as the one to watch. He hovered at my shoulder, every sense on red alert.
Maven didn’t slow. If the eyes bothered them, they didn’t show it. They threaded us through a series of switchbacks, the whispers trailing after like ribbons:
“You see her arm?”
“Heard she bit off the guy’s ear. Ate it.”
“Petrov’s gonna nuke us, I swear.”
Each new rumor felt like a bootprint between my shoulder blades.
We turned into a narrower passage where the light shifted from Authority-blue to a warmer gold. The air here was different—sweet and yeasty over the tang of fried onions. At a low table, kids rolled dough between their palms while a woman corrected their technique with military precision.
“The bakery,” Maven said, almost fondly. “Yeast smuggled from Chern block. Takes three times the water, but it grows like hell.”
I nodded but my mind kept counting doors, corners, exits.
Maven noticed. “Don’t worry,” they said lightly. “If anyone was going to sell you out, you’d never have made it past the first checkpoint.”
“Comforting,” I murmured, and it was—sort of.
Overhead, someone hammered metal in a pattern that made Maven close their eyes and count under their breath.
“Shift change,” they muttered. “We’re running ahead of schedule.”
They glanced at Kang. “You know why the network works?” They didn’t wait for an answer. “We don’t pretend Authority can’t infiltrate. We make every cell redundant, every contact disposable. New code every week. No code, no food, no water, no air.”
Kang’s mouth twitched but he stayed silent.
“You’re the exception—for now,” Maven told me, and moved on.
The tunnel tightened until even my narrow shoulders brushed both sides, then opened suddenly into a small chamber strung with dim red bulbs. And there, hunched over the gutted corpse of an Authority vending machine, was a face I hadn’t seen in months.
“Rosie?” I blurted.
She didn’t look up right away. Her head was buried inside the machine, hands deep in wires and springs, the scar on her cheek gone pale with concentration.
Lips moving as she counted, she yanked hard; a panel clanged to the floor.
The machine shuddered, then spat out a single, perfectly wrapped snack bar.
Rosie’s grin was feral. “Fuck yes. Twelve in a row, baby.” Then she looked up. “Diana?” Her whole face changed, the guarded edge dropping away. She wiped her hands on her jumpsuit and darted over, hugging me so tight it tugged at my stitches.
“I thought you were—” She cut herself off, then laughed. “No, I didn’t. I knew you’d crawl out of hell just to spite the universe.”
I hugged her back, hard, not caring who watched. When she stepped away she flicked a glance at Kang and then at Maven.
“Authority, huh?” she said, tilting her head at him.
“Not anymore,” I said. “Long story.”
“Bet it’s a good one.” She jerked a thumb at the machine. “Maven, you want the software patch or the manual override?”
“Manual,” Maven said without hesitation.
Rosie nodded, then leaned in until her breath brushed my ear.
“Maven pulled me in right after you got pinched,” she whispered.
“Said the Junction needed a tinkerer—someone who could make Authority junk dance without blowing the place sky-high. Guess I was the only idiot who said yes.” She held up her hands—oil-flecked, green-stained.
“You left a hell of an impression the one time we met. Maven kept talking about you like you were a ghost they couldn’t shake.
Figured if you were worth that kind of talk, maybe this place was worth my hands. ”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Maven cut across us. “She’s not here for long. Medical, some sleep, then back on rotation.”
Rosie snorted. “They always say that. No one leaves. Not unless you’re ready to take your chances outside the walls.” The words were bitter, but there was pride there too—a pride at having chosen to stay.
I looked at her properly then, seeing the exhaustion in the set of her jaw even when she smiled. But she was alive. And—somewhere under the grime and sarcasm—she still had a spark I remembered.
“I’m glad you made it,” I said, and meant it.
Rosie’s grin softened. “Me too. Now come on—” She pointed to the snack bar the machine had spat out. “You ever had one of these with real peanut butter?”
Before I could answer, Maven’s hand cut the air in a sharp gesture. “Let’s go.” There was no argument in their voice.
I squeezed Rosie’s arm, promising myself I’d see her again, then followed Maven and Kang down the next tunnel. Behind me, Rosie muttered, “Don’t let them eat you alive.”
Too late, I thought, but kept moving.
The tunnel wound downward, the air growing colder and thinner. The murmur of voices ahead thickened—a rising tide of anger, fatigue, resolve. At the end of the corridor Maven stopped, hand on a door painted with a crooked stencil of a bird. “You ready?” they asked—not just me, but Kang too.
I nodded. Kang nodded. Maven nodded back.
The last door opened on a low hiss of recycled air.
And the future waited inside.