Guardians of The Damned

Chapter 50 - Which One?

"I don't know what you're planning," RD said as he inserted the key and twisted it with a click, unlocking the heavy door. "But be careful, Sunny."

Calvin stepped inside first, craning his neck upward. "This place is huge."

A towering structure stretched into the heavens, its spiral staircase wrapping around the walls like a serpent. At its peak, a soft spinning light pulsed—steady, rhythmic, like a heartbeat.

Surrounding the tower, hundreds of prison cells stacked like a hive. Screams echoed—guards being cursed, inmates arguing, garbage flying between cells.

I crossed my arms and chuckled. "Lively. I think I could live here comfortably."

RD gave a grunt, waving us forward. "I won't be worried. Come on—stay close."

His boots clanged against the metal floor as we followed, the noise of the prison swirling around us.

Prisoners reached out as we passed, hands clawing for us like predators testing their cage bars.

We stayed just out of reach, while Calvin eyed them anxiously.

"Who's the boy, Sunny?" RD asked without turning.

Calvin craned his neck to meet his gaze. RD gave him a once-over.

Broad-shouldered. A little unkempt—shirt untucked, boots scuffed.

Sandy-brown hair, short and messy.

Warm brown eyes—tired, heavy with bags, but still friendly.

His worn leather jacket, faded jeans, and patched military boots whispered a thousand stories.

"I need him to find the device Synth stole," I replied.

"This kid?" RD stopped mid-step, casting a skeptical glance at Calvin, then me. Doubt—and something like disappointment—flickered across his face.

I already knew what he was thinking.

"Save the lecture for later," I said.

"I won't lecture," he replied, voice firmer than expected. "But here's advice: don't get him killed."

The words hit harder than I expected, guilt twisting in my gut.

"I won't," I said, locking eyes with him.

Calvin shook his head.

"You don't have to do that. I can protect myself. I hate owing people—and besides, we made a deal. I know the risks. Whatever happens, it's on me."

RD blinked, puzzled.

"You're really a child?"

"Twelve years old. Name's Calvin," he said, offering a handshake with one hand still in his pocket.

RD stared a second longer, then grinned and shook his hand.

"Richard Danish. Everyone calls me RD. Nice to meet ya, lil' man."

"Me too."

RD turned and continued walking.

"Funny, isn't it? Your mission was to retrieve the device *from* Synth—yet after all the twists, it ended up *with* Synth."

True.

Someone from Synth had sent Scarecrow to retrieve the device—yet also deployed Phoenix squad.

Why?

"We failed to retrieve it... Maybe they wanted an excuse to disband us," I muttered, pinching my chin.

Not impossible.

My whole plan relied on Phoenix to burn the top down. Maybe they sensed it.

They cut our wings.

RD snapped his fingers—a habit when someone's thoughts matched his.

"Took a roundabout way to kill the bird," he said. "But they want to make sure it never flies again."

I grinned, excitement igniting in my chest.

"Let them try."

RD chuckled. "I like this part of you."

We stopped at a reinforced door with thirteen locks.

I touched it—instantly, my powers weakened. Lern. A material that suppressed Honor.

"This her cell? Seems excessive. She's not Unity."

"They didn't want to take chances," RD said.

He worked the locks in five minutes.

"Fifteen minutes," he muttered to himself. Then, walking away without looking back:

"You don't see me. We never met. We never talked."

I nodded.

The door swung open.

Calvin and I stepped in. The door sealed behind us with a deep, echoing thud.

The room was bare. Two chairs, thick glass between them, a single bulb overhead.

I sat.

Calvin climbed onto my shoulder like a parrot in a pirate movie. His small weight was oddly comforting.

Silence.

For a moment, I thought the room was empty.

Then I saw her.

Sitting across the glass, hands folded neatly, head tilted like she was listening to a song only she could hear.

The bulb cast a soft halo around her. She looked more like a librarian than a prisoner.

Simple clothes—white shirt, loose pants.

Hair draped over her shoulder, like she hadn't touched it in days.

Calvin fidgeted on my shoulder, frowning at the air like something about it bothered him.

She smiled—small, almost shy.

"Welcome," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I've been waiting for you."

"Did you wait long?" I asked politely, with a small smile.

"No, but I must admit... you came sooner than expected."

"I don't have time to visit later. You know why I'm here, Clara." My tone sharpened.

"Of course." Her voice remained calm, melodic.

"So, what did you find in the kid's brain?" I leaned in.

The boy who survived Vie's experiment—Clara had read his memories.

"Sunny, you know humans can't absorb too much at once. It overwhelms them—makes them sick."

"So you're saying we should pretend not to know what Vie did to those kids?" I frowned, anger creeping in.

"Would you stop pursuing Vie if I said yes?"

"But why, Clara? He hurt those children—for what? We have to stop him!"

"Do you know how many children go missing each year?"

Odd question. But I answered, "Around three thousand?"

"I had a little sister," Clara whispered. "Younger than that boy on your shoulder. We were close—inseparable."

I stayed quiet. Her eyes glazed over.

"She was taken during the Sweep seven years ago. Just a routine scan. She never came back."

My breath caught. "You think Vie took her?"

She nodded. "I gave up everything. Became a memory reader, searching for a glimpse—anything."

"And you found her?"

"I did. But not how I imagined."

Clara looked up, met my eyes.

"She's alive. Vie kept her alive. But only because she's useful. If I help you... she dies."

I clenched my fists.

"Clara, you know what he's done. To the boy. To your sister. To everyone. We can't let that continue."

"She doesn't even remember me," Clara whispered. "He's rewritten her again and again. I'm a stranger now. But I promised—I'd find her. I'd protect her. And now that I have... do I let her die for justice she can't even understand?"

I rubbed my head, speaking without realizing, "How the heck is all this connected? Did Vie know Clara would be his biggest obstacle? Did he kidnap her sister just to leash her? But back then, Clara was nobody. Did he have someone who could see the future?"

"It's not possible," Clara said. I blinked—surprised she answered my thoughts—then realized I'd spoken aloud.

"Wait... what do you mean?"

"When I read the kid's memories, I saw someone. A woman, maybe in her thirties. Vie kept asking her what to do—every little decision. Like he needed her to make things perfect.

"She never looked surprised. Like she'd lived it all already."

"Anything strange about her?"

"A black rash on her neck."

I leaned back and clicked my tongue. "I should've killed Vie when I had the chance."

"Even if you had, I still wouldn't have her back."

Her hands trembled—barely—but I noticed. Composed, soft-spoken... yet unraveling.

She wasn't just talking about Vie.

She was talking about her sister.

Clara looked down. Voice faint.

"She loved paper cranes. Said if she folded a thousand, one would fly her away from this city."

She smiled bitterly.

"The night she disappeared, she stayed up folding the last one. I told her to stop. Told her dreams like that don't come true."

A breath.

"I heard the front door creak an hour later. Thought it was the wind."

Silence.

"She was gone by morning. Just one crane left on the table."