Rain stings my face as I press against the cold stone wall behind the east wing. My wrists still bear the marks from the cuffs—three years of ‘correction’ for crimes I didn’t commit. Olivia’s laughter echoes from the gala inside, floating through the open window like poison on perfume. I shouldn’t be here. I should be gone. But I left something behind—the flash drive with the first real proof of her lies.

Tristan warned me not to come back. Said the moment they find out I broke containment, they’ll erase me for good. But if I don’t retrieve it now, I’ll never clear my name. The vent above me creaks open. One way in. No way out unless I move fast.

I climb inside just as footsteps approach below.