Chapter 9 · Scrap Dad's Lie

"Move your ass, Crane! If the Guild catches us in the restricted sector, they won't just collar you—they'll peel the skin off your back to see how the engine is wired," Lena hissed, her hand gripping the back of his soot-stained collar.

Milo stumbled, his boots skidding on the wet iron grating of the lower district. "I'm moving! Just... stop pulling me like a dog!"

"Then stop walking like one," she snapped. She shoved him forward, her palm flat against his shoulder blade. The heat of her touch burned through his thin shirt, a sharp contrast to the damp, metallic chill of the air.

They were deep in the Guild’s gut now, the architecture shifting from scrap-shacks to oppressive, seamless obsidian steel. The SOS signal from Bram was still pulsing in Milo's pocket, a frantic, rhythmic vibration that felt like a heartbeat. It wasn't just a code; it was a scream in binary.

"Wait," Milo whispered, sliding to a halt. He leaned his head toward the sigil-core embedded in his chest. It wasn't whispering anymore. It was humming, a low, hungry vibration that made his teeth ache. *Left. Third corridor. He's bleeding.*

"What is it?" Lena asked, her voice dropping.