The wasteland had become their ally, or as close to one as this toxic expanse could ever be. The skeletal remains of buildings provided cover, craters left by abandoned strip-mining operations served as makeshift foxholes, and the corrosive air masked their presence from the Grid's ever-watchful eye.
At least, that had been the theory. Now, hunkered down between the rusting ribs of a derelict transport vehicle, Elias wasn't so sure.
"They know," Kyra whispered, her voice barely louder than the hiss of the wind swirling around them. "They know we're different."
He peered over the edge of their hiding spot. Nothing but warped metal, choking dust, and the skeletal silhouettes of structures silhouetted against the sickly glow of the distant city. Yet, unease prickled his skin with the certainty of being watched.
"Not know," he amended, keeping his voice low. "The Grid...it's wrong. Glitching." His scavenged tech toolkit lay scattered before him, more of a comfort ritual than a practical attempt to decipher the corrupted signals whining through his jury-rigged receiver.
Since the dome, the world hadn't simply become their battlefield. The System itself seemed to strain against their presence, anomalies the Grid couldn't process or suppress.
Kyra shifted beside him, her closeness more nerve-wracking than any corporate enforcer. "They'll find us," she said, the fierce determination in her voice tinged with despair.
"We'll be ready," he countered, though the lie tasted bitter on his tongue. "Now focus. Think back to the dome. The symbols…"
They'd spent the fleeting, tense moments of respite between pursuits trying to decipher the fragments of knowledge seared into their minds. Control was possible, but felt as elusive as the horizon.
She turned her palm upward, emerald light flickering and stuttering across her skin. "It won't stay."
"It will. You did it before, with the pipe…" He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers, the spark of their magic making the stale air crackle. They both flinched back, the touch a reminder of the volatile energy coursing through them.
The receiver beeped, a harsh sound echoing in the desolate silence. He fumbled for it, squinting at the screen filled with glitching, garbled code. It took several agonizing attempts to stabilize the transmission just enough to make sense of it.
Kyra leaned over, her shoulder bumping against his. "What is it?"
It wasn't what, but where. Coordinates pulsed on the screen, a beacon in the digital wilderness. His heart hammered in his chest. "A place," he rasped. "Maybe like the dome, but…"
"…smaller," she finished, her voice laced with trepidation and a desperate hope he didn't dare share. "A sanctuary?"
A target painted on their backs more likely. But a chance was better than waiting for the System's noose to tighten around their necks. He keyed a response into the battered device – a coded signal, scavenged barter for safe passage from an undercity data broker that felt like a lifetime ago.
He'd never trusted the shifty tech-witch and her promises of hidden routes and forgotten maps, but desperation made for reckless allies.
The reply came, almost too quick. Confirmation, and another set of coordinates – a meetup point far from their current location. They weren't just being hunted. They were being lured.
"It's a trap," Kyra breathed, stating the obvious.
Rising to his feet, he scanned their surroundings once more. The sensation of being watched intensified, a pressure against his skull. "Maybe," he conceded. "Then we spring it."
The wasteland stretched before them, an expanse of traps they had yet to fully comprehend. But fear had lost its paralyzing grip. They were the anomalies now, the glitches in the machine. And glitches could cause glorious malfunctions.