Ascension spent years planting those beliefs inside us.
But then Clay found me.
And everything Wu built started breaking apart.
The injured teenage boy suddenly speaks through clenched teeth.
“There are more children downstairs.”
All eyes snap toward him.
The girl beside him stiffens instantly.
Fear.
Not of us.
Of saying too much.
Wu’s voice sharpens:
“Silence.”
The boy physically flinches.
God.
Even now Wu owns pieces of them.
Hannah. Think.
I kneel slowly near them.
“What’s your designation?”
The boy hesitates.
Then quietly:
“Subject Nine-Two.”
Not a name.
Never a name.
My chest aches so badly I can barely stand it.
“How many children are below us?”
The girl answers this time.
“Forty-three.”
Clay mutters a vicious curse beside me.
Forty-three.
And those are only the ones still alive.
