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Chapter 26 - The Cracks in the Silence

404 woke later in the day, sunlight bleeding faintly through the curtains. His body felt like lead, aching in ways he didn’t want to think about. Each movement scraped at him, dragging fragments of memory back to the surface.

He tried standing. His legs wobbled, his muscles screaming with every step, the soreness a cruel reminder of last night. He hated himself for it—for not pulling away, for kissing back, for melting when he should have fought.

Shame gnawed at him. Confusion burned hotter.

Did I let it happen? Did I want it? Or was I just too weak to resist?

The questions looped until his chest tightened. And always—always—the name echoing inside him.

Caelum.

As if someone else lived in his skin, someone who remembered what he couldn’t.

He shook his head violently, dragging a shirt from the chair and pulling it over his sore frame. His stomach growled; his body didn’t care about shame or names, it only wanted food.

Dragging himself down the hall, he made his way to the kitchen. The tiles were cold under his feet, and the silence of the house pressed around him—until he heard it.

A noise. Low, sharp, like bodies colliding.

404 froze, edging toward the window. He peered through a sliver in the curtain, breath catching.

09.

“It… that’s 09,” he whispered, the words trembling out of him before he could stop them.

Outside, in the courtyard, 09 was locked in a brutal fight with a figure cloaked in shadows. Fists flew, blades flashed, and the clash of metal rang in the air. 09 moved with precision, feral and fluid, but the enemy matched him blow for blow.

404’s chest surged with a strange excitement—like seeing someone he trusted in a world where trust was impossible. His hand trembled on the doorknob. He had to see him. Had to know if it was really him.

He yanked the door open—

—and nearly collided with the masked man.

“Where are you going?” The voice was steady, unreadable, but the tilt of his head carried suspicion.

404’s mouth went dry. His brain scrambled for an excuse. “I… uh… needed fresh air.”

The man said nothing, only studied him for a long, suffocating second.

404’s pulse spiked. He ducked past, muttering something incoherent, and stumbled back upstairs, his limp betraying him with every step.

Back in his room, he rushed to the window, yanking the curtains open, desperate to catch another glimpse of 09.

But the courtyard was empty.

404’s hands shook against the windowsill. His chest hollowed out with a sudden, cruel ache.
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He leaned against the window frame, peering desperately into the dark. His breath fogged the glass as his eyes scanned every shadow. But the courtyard was still all empty . No 09. No fight. Only the stillness of night.

His chest tightened. Was I… daydreaming? The ache in his body made everything hazy, unreal. Maybe the pain, the exhaustion, the name Caelum gnawing at him—it was all twisting his mind.

He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, stepping back from the window.

The door creaked open.

404 flinched, heart leaping into his throat.

The masked man stepped inside, posture sharp and urgent. His gaze swept the room once before landing on 404.

“We have to leave,” he said flatly, no room for argument in his tone.

404 blinked, still half caught between confusion and the phantom image of 09. “Leave? Now? Why—”

The man’s eyes hardened through the mask. “Now.”