"Where were you?"

Lark ran to Apollo and threw her arms around him. "You're late."

"I know. I should have let you know, but I forgot," Apollo said, pulling her close. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the familiar scent—warm and real—so different from the sterile air of the Administration Building.

Lark pulled back slightly, her brows knitting together. "What's wrong?"

"I just had my six-month interview."

Lark stepped away enough to meet his eyes. "How was it? Is everything alright?"

Apollo opened his mouth to respond, but then he noticed Evyn standing outside the glass, watching with quiet curiosity. "I'll tell you later," he said instead.

Lark hesitated, then nodded and gestured toward the glass. "She got here before I did. She's been writing a lot. I just finished translating it all."

She held up the Doodle Board. Apollo took it, scanning the message carefully.

My family leaves tomorrow. I'm sorry I haven't been able to answer all your questions. It is difficult writing on the glass, especially backward so you can read. I want to talk to you, face to face, without glass. I've examined your glass dome and I think I found a way in and out. Then we can talk.

Apollo wasn't sure what to think. His mind was still reeling from the interview, and now it felt like a full-on dust storm inside his head.

Lark watched him expectantly. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"What do you think?"

Apollo hesitated. "Think about what?"

Lark huffed, gesturing toward the Doodle Board. "Let's talk to her!" She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Apollo ran a hand through his hair. "How?"

Lark pointed at the message. "She says there might be a way in. We should at least hear her out."

Apollo shook his head. "That's insane. We... we could die out there!"

Lark crossed her arms. "Who said we have to go out there? She can come inside and talk to us."

Apollo exhaled slowly, weighing the idea. He wasn't sold on this like Lark clearly was. His life, while difficult, was still structured—predictable. Debt was a way of life, but it was a way of everyone's life. Was anyone really in debt if everyone was in debt?

What did they stand to gain from speaking with Evyn? Maybe they'd learn something interesting. Maybe nothing at all.

But then he looked into Lark's eyes—bright with hope, filled with excitement.

He sighed. "Okay, fine," he said. "Ask her how to get there."

Lark grinned and quickly erased the last message before writing in the old script Evyn understood.

𐐎𐐨 𐐪𐑉 𐑉𐐯𐐼𐐨. 𐐓𐐯𐑊 𐐲𐑅 𐐶𐐲𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐐼𐐭.

Evyn nodded, then carefully traced her response onto the dust-covered glass.

𐐙𐐪𐑊𐐬 𐑋𐐨.

Lark didn't even check her books before translating. "She says to follow her."

Apollo exchanged a glance with Lark, then turned back to Evyn. He gave her a nod, and she began walking alongside the glass.

They followed closely, sometimes having to run ahead to wipe away dust that had settled too thickly, making sure they could still see her. They walked for several minutes before reaching a place where a large building blocked their path—and their view of her.

Lark came to a stop. "Now what?"

Apollo let out a breath, laughing a little. "This was your idea, wasn't it?"

Before Lark could reply, words began to appear in the dust.

𐐜𐐯𐑉 𐐮𐑆 𐐩 𐑂𐐯𐑌𐐻.

Lark squinted at the message, nodding slowly, but she didn't look entirely convinced.

Apollo frowned. "What? What does it say?"

Lark hesitated before answering. "She says... 'There is a vent.' But I don't know what she means. Everything is sealed off from the outside. There's no way she can get in."

Apollo glanced at the glass, then back at Lark. "She must have a plan."

They stood in silence for what felt like forever. The area they were in was technically off-limits, but it was in the old part of the city—where the rules blurred and security was lax. This place had been forgotten, left to rust along the border of the fields and the abandoned rocket station. No one came here anymore.

Apollo scanned the structure, searching for any possible way inside. Most of the doors would require a wrist scan for access, and he and Lark didn't have the clearance for a place like this. But maybe... just maybe...

His eyes caught on a slight indent in the metal wall, almost unnoticeable in the dim light. He stepped forward, running his fingers along the groove. It felt like a seam, something separate from the rest of the structure. His grip tightened as he tested it, giving it a small shake. It moved—just barely, shifting side to side with a muted creak.

"Lark," he said, voice low. "Over here."

She was beside him in an instant. Her gaze flicked from his face to the hidden handle, and her breath hitched. "Do it," she whispered.

Apollo hesitated for a moment, glancing over his shoulder. The buildings around them stood silent and still, the distant hum of the city too far to reach them here. No cameras, no guards. They were alone.

He exhaled, gripped the handle, and twisted.

The door groaned as it slid open, the sound echoing far too loudly in the empty corridor. Lark flinched, and Apollo instinctively tensed, waiting for an alarm, for footsteps, for something—

But nothing happened.

A thick, stale air drifted out from the dark space beyond. Apollo peered inside. The room was pitch black, the faint metallic scent of old machinery lingering in the air.

"Go," Lark urged, grabbing his hand.

He didn't think—he just followed. The door creaked closed behind them and he briefly thought that they might be locked in but he shook that from his mind. 

They stood frozen in the darkness, listening. The only sound was their own breathing, shallow and uneven, until—

Thump.

A muffled noise echoed through the chamber, faint but deliberate. Then again. Thump. A rhythmic, padded banging against metal.

Lark tensed beside him. "What's that?" she whispered, barely audible.

Apollo shook his head instinctively, then realized she couldn't see him in the dark. "I don't know," he murmured back, straining his ears.

Then he saw it—a thin, flickering glow bleeding through the slats of a vent across the room. It was so faint that at first he thought he imagined it, but as they crept closer, the light steadied, illuminating slivers of dust in the stale air.

With each cautious step, more of the room emerged from the shadows.

A cavernous bay stretched before them, swallowed in darkness except for the growing halo of light. Apollo's breath caught as he made out the hulking silhouette of something massive in the center of the space—a relic of the past, forgotten but not erased.

An old rocket.

He craned his neck, eyes tracing its slender, towering body as it reached for the domed ceiling, its surface worn and weathered by time. Its once-sleek metal was now dulled by dust and corrosion, but even in its abandonment, it held an undeniable presence.

"I've never seen a rocket in real life before," he murmured, voice hushed with awe. He had grown up hearing about them, seeing grainy old projections in school, but nothing compared to standing before one.

Lark took a slow step forward, her gaze locked on the ship. "My mom said our great-great-great-great-grandpa was on one of the last ships that brought people here."

Apollo turned toward her, frowning. "How do you have such a recent ancestor and still be sitting good with your debt?"

"He invented the new O₂ scrubbers," she said absently, her eyes still trained on the ship as if it might suddenly roar to life.

Apollo let out a low whistle. "Wow."

But Lark had already moved on, her focus drawn back to the glowing vent. The light flickered, then steadied, like a signal.

"That must be Evyn," she breathed, taking another step forward.

Then, a voice—clear, direct—cut through the dark.

"You're right."

Lark halted, her breath catching. "Evyn?"

"That's me," the voice confirmed, calm but urgent. "Help me get this vent open."

For a split second, Apollo just stood there, frozen. Hearing her voice—real, tangible—sent a jolt through him. But then instinct took over, and he hurried forward, dropping to his knees beside Lark.

The vent was old, the edges warped with time, but still sturdy. Apollo gripped the metal slats, his fingers searching for a weak point.

"One, two, three."

They yanked together. The vent groaned in protest, then gave a sickening snap as it bent and broke away. It clattered onto the floor, the sound ricocheting off the cavernous walls.

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then, from the open shaft, a tanned hand reached through. Apollo grasped it firmly, surprised by the strength in her grip as he pulled her up and out of the vent.

Evyn landed lightly on her feet, brushing dust from her clothes before flashing them a grin. "Good to see you on the same side of the glass," she said, her voice carrying a brightness that felt out of place in the abandoned space.

In her hand, she held a slim flashlight, its bright beam cutting sharply through the dark. She turned, stepping toward a nearby shelf, and set it down. With a press of a button, the light expanded—panels on the sides unfurling with a soft hum, transforming it into a small lantern that bathed the room in a warm glow.

Apollo's breath hitched as, for the first time, he truly saw her.

Evyn stood before them, the lantern's warm glow casting shifting shadows across her face. Apollo took her in—really saw her now that she was no longer just a fleeting glimpse behind glass.

Her olive-toned skin was dusted with freckles, the kind only hours beneath an unfiltered sun could bring out. Her dark hair, thick and wavy, had been woven into a loose braid over one shoulder, a few stray strands framing her sharp, angular face. Her eyes—deep brown and watchful—flashed with something unreadable, an intensity that made it clear she was not afraid.

She wore a loose-fitting tunic the color of sunbaked earth, laced at the neckline, its fabric soft and worn from use. The sleeves billowed slightly before cinching at her wrists, the edges embroidered with tiny beads that caught the dim light. Her trousers, practical and free-moving, were tucked into simple leather sandals, dust clinging to her ankles. A sash, dark against the faded tones of her clothes, wrapped snugly around her waist, its tied ends shifting as she moved.

She looked wild—not in an untamed way, but in a way that spoke of freedom. Of someone who had long since left behind the careful, controlled existence Apollo had always known.

Evyn studied them both with the same sharp curiosity, her lips twitching into the faintest smirk. Her dark eyes flicked between them, taking in their wide stares and tense shoulders.

"What?" she said, voice edged with amusement. "You both look like you've seen a ghost."

Lark let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "I think we just did. I have so many questions."

Evyn's smirk deepened. "Shoot."

Apollo frowned slightly at the unfamiliar term, but Lark didn't hesitate, as if the word made perfect sense to her. She leaned forward, her voice coming faster now, unspooling like a tightly wound thread finally let loose.

"How do you breathe out there? We've always been told the air is toxic—filled with chemicals that would burn our lungs if we even stepped outside. And the sun—how do you not get baked alive? The radiation alone should have fried you! And the soil—there's no way you grow food in the sand, so what do you eat? And—"

"Okay, okay," Evyn interrupted with a laugh, holding up her hands in surrender. "One at a time, unless you expect me to answer in a single breath." She exhaled, shaking her head. "We're gonna need a system because I've got questions for you, too. Let's take turns."

She set her lantern on the ground, its glow casting strange, wavering shadows against the old metal walls. "I'll start," she said, leaning back against the vent's frame. "The air's fine. My family's been breathing it since the first day we got here. No poison, no sickness. It's nearly the same as Earth's atmosphere."

Lark's eyes widened. "That's impossible."

Evyn shrugged. "Tell that to my lungs."

Apollo folded his arms, glancing at Lark, who was practically vibrating with excitement.

"Okay," she said, nodding emphatically. "And how—"

"Uh-uh," Evyn cut in, raising an eyebrow. "My turn." She turned her sharp gaze onto Apollo. "Why do you all live in a dome? I mean, my family has lived out there for years, but I've never heard of a city under glass. Not once."

Apollo hesitated, the weight of generations of fear pressing against his tongue. "Because..." He glanced at Lark before meeting Evyn's steady gaze. "Because the air is dangerous. And the sun—it's too strong. It'll kill us if we're exposed for too long. Not to mention the dust storms—"

"Hold on." Evyn's forehead creased. "Who told you that?"

Apollo's mouth opened, but no words came out. He knew the answer—everyone. Teachers, scientists, government officials, his parents, the very foundation of life inside the dome. But faced with Evyn—standing here, alive, unburned, and very much breathing—the certainty of it wavered.

"Everyone," he said finally, but the word felt thinner than it had ever before.

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