Over the next few days, I had a hard time staying focused. I couldn't shake off the memory of what Laura told me about the people with white tags, which was a problem. I'd soon have to send the message Erik had put together, which meant taking a big risk, and I needed my head to be clear for it.

Heather was also a bit shaken by what had happened at the border, although she wouldn't admit it. She had received orders to station more officers at the gates to prevent another incident like that from happening again, and well, she didn't take it well. To her, the extra boots on the ground felt like a quiet reminder that the border was her responsibility and she'd somehow let it slip. Now, she seemed even more focused on work than before, as if trying to mask the guilt she didn't want anyone to see.

I met Erik at his apartment to pick up the repeater that would transmit the signal beyond the wall. He lived in one of those massive, cookie-cutter buildings for outsiders assigned by the immigration department. Every single one was the same, same shape, same color, same stale smell. It was as if we didn't deserve even a hint of individuality.

The interior of the apartment was so obsessively geometric, that I was sure it would give me a headache. The furniture fit together with silver-edged borders that outlined their shapes in an unnervingly uniform way. It felt like moving one thing would mean dismantling the entire room, like some over-engineered puzzle. The Reg triangle was everywhere, stuck into the fridge door, repeated in a pattern on the curtains, and even etched into the fruit bowl sitting on the living room table.

"That's not really your style, is it?" I said to Erik, gazing around.

"It's not like I had a choice." He said showing me a silver hanger so I could leave my jacket.

However, as I paid attention to every detail, I realized that Erik had rebelled against that intense, imposing Reg design. A colorful, handmade blanket draped over the dull gray sofa. Plants of all kinds filled every corner, making the space feel much more alive. On an easel near the window, a painting in progress, a scene of snow-capped mountains with deer standing on a rocky precipice, was on display.

"Did you paint this?" I asked, leaning in to take in every detail of the adorable deer and those perfectly shaped clouds.

"I'm just learning," he said with a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

The gradient blues of the sky and the brightness of the stars were especially charming "You've got talent, you know?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, surprised by my appreciation, I bet he hadn't even asked himself if the painting was good or not.

"Thanks. It's more therapy, really. I don't care how it turns out to be. Just trying to keep my head busy."

"I get that." I said. "Anything that can drown the noise in our heads is welcomed."

"Exactly." He said meeting my gaze. "What about you? What makes you forget about all the adorable problems of our perfectly united world?"

He asked it in a playful, innocent manner, but the question landed harder than he probably intended. It brushed up against something I knew but hadn't let myself think about. What grounds me? What makes me forget about all the awful, messed-up things in this world? The answer came to me, clear as day: Heather.

She was the person who filled my thoughts more than anyone else. Everything felt lighter and brighter, on the days I knew we'd swim together. Her smile had a way of making my stomach flip, that let me feeling nothing bad could happen as long as I was close to it. I loved her annoying, smart-ass comments and how we'd go back and forth for hours, cracking each other up. I loved the way we'd have these deep, late-night talks, the kind that made the world feel less big and scary. And her touch, God, her touch, it was like a flame that dragged out a wild part of myself I didn't even think it existed.

There was a clear "before" and "after" her, and as much as I didn't want to admit it, I couldn't imagine going back. The present with her made my heart feel warm, sparkling, and alive. How could anyone walk away from that?

"Grace?" Erik asked, waving a hand in front of my frozen stare.

"Sorry," I said, snapping back to reality and refocusing my blurred vision on him. "I'd say what grounds me is running."

Ha. Sure.

"Oh yeah, I forgot you're an expert runner. I still remember how much you used to pester Michael and me to run with you on The Other Side."

"You lazy folks," I said, crossing my arms in mock indignation. "You never came, not even once!"

Erik chuckled at the memory. "I'm not built for running. You know how clumsy I am. My thing was music."

That comment triggered a vivid memory in my head: Erik with his violin, playing inside a refuge during the worst of the acid rainstorms.

"Do you miss it?" I asked quietly. "Playing music, I mean."

He nodded slowly, without a word.

Music, like so many other things, was tightly controlled by the Reg System. Instruments were a privilege reserved for the lucky few, and Erik hadn't been one of them.

"But speaking of that..." he said, raising his eyebrows acting mysterious. "I've got something to show you. Follow me."

He led me to the end of the corridor, stopping in front of a closed door.

"Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" I said, narrowing my eyes suspiciously.

He didn't answer, just pushed the door open.

"Tadá!" He said, grinning.

My gaze swept around the room. It was sterile white, just like the rest of his apartment, but one thing shattered the monotony. In the center of the room, on a lectern, sat a beautiful, handmade wooden violin. In front of it, a stand held a sheet of music, as if waiting for someone to play.

"What the hell?" I managed, staring at the scene. My mind scrambled for words, but nothing coherent came out. Instead, I gestured wildly, trying to ask him what on Earth I was looking at.

"I made it," he said proudly. "Got the pieces on the black market. A woman helped me put it together. And check this out..."

He pointed to a thick, plush carpet that covered not only the floor but also the walls, giving the room a soft, cocoon-like feel.

"It's soundproof! It was an absolute nightmare sticking all this," he said, frowning. "But totally worth it!"

I stepped inside, walking over that fluffy carpet, still taking it all in.

"No matter the time of day," he continued, beaming, "I can play whenever I want, and nobody hears a thing."

"You're such a genius," I said, leaning on the violin and caressing its waist. "Not that it's news or anything, but still, just in case you forgot."

"And this," he said, picking up the music sheet from the stand, "this is our letter to Michael, translated into music."

"Wait, are you serious?" I asked. "That's how we're sending it?"

"Yep," he said with a smirk. "Michael and I created a music code ages ago. If he hears this, he'll know it's from us. But if someone else intercepts it, they'll just think it's a random song."

"Whoa. You're seriously blowing my mind right now. Can I hear it?" My question triggered a huge smile on Erik's face.

"I was hoping you ask that."

He closed the door, double-checking that the soundproofing was snug against it, then reached for the violin. With a quiet reverence, he tucked it under his chin, and for a moment, he just stood there, bow in hand, eyes closed, as if collecting his thoughts before something important. As he exhaled, the bow met the strings, with the softness you'd caress the wings of a butterfly. The first note swept me into a wave of nostalgia. My heart soared. It had been so long since I'd heard a violin played live, let alone watched Erik play again.

The melody wasn't flawless, after all, it was a code. There were sporadic shifts, moments where it wavered, and it lacked perfect harmony. But it carried something far more important. It radiated warmth, a quiet kind of joy, and an unmistakable sense of love.

"It's so beautiful. I bet he'll love it," I said, trying to fight back a few tears threatening to spill.

"I hope so." He left the violin on the stand and flashed me a hopeful smile. It had been a long time since I saw Erik so happy.

"Thanks for agreeing to do all of this." He said.

"Thanks to YOU!"

After that, we spent the rest of the afternoon chatting on his sofa, partially draped in his rainbow blanket, while devouring a chocolate cake, apparently named brownie, that he had learned to make. Turns out, besides playing music and painting, he was also a great cook, and his love for chocolate was just as intense as mine. Having a chocoholic friend like him around felt essential when life got tough.

"Can I ask you something?" Erik said, scooping up a big piece of brownie.

I took a sip of tea, trying to wash down the mountain of chocolate currently taking up all the space in my mouth, before answering. "Sure."

"Why didn't you tell Michael you're a Narval Officer in the letter?"

Uh-oh. He'd realized.

"Well, I just didn't want to say anything that could upset him, you know?"

Erik paused for a moment, setting his fork down on the plate like he needed to stop everything else to focus on his thoughts.

"I get it," he said. "But you've got to remember, Michael loves you. He knows things work differently here. I'm sure he'd understand."

"Maybe," I said, hesitating. "But ever since what happened at the border... I think he could feel a little confused."

Erik nodded again like he was piecing it together.

"Okay, fair enough," he said. "I just don't want you to go feeling like you need to hide things, especially from us."

He said it so naturally, so earnestly, that it made my heart warm. Erik was such a genuine person. It's hard to put his type into words, it's one of those things you just understand when you meet someone like him. He was kind, transparent, loyal in a way that felt rare, and so genuinely honest it made you want to be better like his goodness was contagious. He never held back when it came to making someone feel better, and I loved that about him, how he just gave, without expecting anything in return.

His comment, though, left me feeling like I hadn't lived up to his friendship. Maybe I didn't need to keep my relationship with Heather a secret after all.

"Well... there's something I haven't told you." Okay, here we go. My fingers trembled, so I set down the mug, just in case.

"Oh, there is? Come on, spill!" Erik said, leaning forward excitedly, as he took another bite of his brownie.

I took a deep breath. "Remember that girl I told you I was kind of 'seeing'?"

"Of course! The mysterious lady whose identity remains a secret." He playfully nudged my arm, grinning and waving his fork dramatically.

"Yeah... well, she's Heather. The lead of the Border."

I tried to say it as neutrally as possible, making sure my tone didn't give away my fear or judgment, so Erik could react without feeling influenced by me. But as the words left my mouth, my voice started to fade, as if I were revealing the most closely guarded secret in history.

"Oh." Erik's mischievous smile faded, and he slowly set his fork down on the table.

Silence.

A long silence.

Way too long.

"Erik?" I said.

"Sorry, I'm just... processing." Another silence. Was this some kind of cruel experiment in human patience?

"Is she... nice?" He finally asked.

I blinked at him, utterly confused. "Uh... of course?"

Erik shook his head, realizing the absurdity of his own question. "Yeah, yeah. Stupid question. Sorry. It's just, I don't know. After what happened with Michael, I had this picture of her in my head: evil, heartless, cold. And, well... it doesn't exactly match you."

"I get your confusion. I thought the same about her at first," I said. "But once I got to know her better... she's really something."

Erik's eyes still held a mix of confusion and worry.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said playing with a thread that escaped from the blanket "And if you say so... it might be true." He was trying to be supportive, but there was something odd in his tone.

"But please..."

"What?" I asked.

"Be careful, Grace."

After that, the atmosphere shifted, it felt cooler, and I didn't like it. I guess I should have been glad to share the information with him. In the end, Heather was important to me, no matter how confusing it all was. But I definitely wasn't prepared for his reaction. Thinking about it now, I probably should have been—it was kind of predictable. Maybe spending so much time cooped up in the Narval House with the same people every day had made me lose touch with how things looked from the outside.

Erik changed the subject and explained everything I needed to know about the repeater. I guess focusing on the mission was a good way to move past that awkward moment, so I decided to let it go.

The repeater was a small metal box, packed with cables and two antennas sticking out from each side. It was simple to use: I just had to flip the switch once I placed it on top of the Electric Tower. The repeater would pick up the signal Erik sent from the radio station and boost it well beyond the wall. The trickiest part of the plan was getting up there without anyone seeing me. But, well, I figured I'd figure that out when the time came.

The next day, Heather and I both had the day off, which was a rare event in our chaotic lives. So, we decided to follow any lead that might give us a clue about her birth family. After tossing around different ideas, I suggested we visit the sanctuary where she grew up and talk to the people working there. Maybe they had a record of her case or some information about the people who left her there. She wasn't exactly thrilled with the idea, but after I showered her with kisses, she gave in and agreed.

It took her ages to get ready to go. At first, she was acting so cool that I thought maybe this first step wasn't a big deal for her. But as I watched her switch from a white blouse to a green one, then throw it aside and try a blue sweater, only to switch that for a white one...I realized this was a significant move, no matter how little she let on.

In the end, she settled on a maroon fluffy sweater, black slim pants, and a long dark blue coat. She let her hair flow freely, cascading over her shoulders like ocean waves, which had me hypnotized. She couldn't stop glancing at herself in the mirror, and I couldn't stop watching her, smirking from the bed.

"Wipe that smile off your face. I know you're laughing at me." She said, glaring at me.

"What? No," I said, acting all innocent. "I'm just marveling at your beauty and wondering if you're secretly freaking out inside."

"I'm not nervous at all." She said, too quickly.

I raised an eyebrow at her. "Liar."

"Shut up," she tossed one of her discarded blouses at me. "I just don't know what to expect, that's all."

I walked up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and letting my head rest on her shoulder as we both looked into the mirror.

"I know," I said softly. "Just remember, whatever it is, you won't be alone."

She turned to face me, slipping her arms around my neck. "Are you sure you don't want to spend your day off doing something else?"

"Mmm... Like what?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Taking a nap? Going on a trip to the city? Eating a chocolate fondue all by yourself? There are plenty of things better than this."

"Let me think about it..." I said, looking up dramatically like I was weighing my options. "A nap without you? Boring. I've already seen the city a hundred times, and honestly, it's overrated. And eating a chocolate fondue by myself? I could do that any day."

Heather smiled, and her fingers traced the back of my neck before tangling softly in my hair.

"Plus," I added, though I was starting to have trouble focusing as her hands moved over my skin, "you're missing the whole point here. This isn't about what's better, it's about what matters."

"Are you saying I matter to you?" She said locking those ocean eyes on me.

I paused for a brief second, but what the hell? I didn't hesitate. "Yes. That's what I'm saying."

Heather closed the distance between us and stole my lips for her.

· · ·

All the sanctuaries were located on the outskirts of the City. Heather's was the farthest of them all, situated near the so-called Mountain Camps, a protected natural area where rangers worked to promote the growth of new greenery and monitored the eastern passages to The Other Side, where the wall had another entrance.

We parked Emma in an unpaved area and started walking toward the sanctuary, which felt like an oasis of tech dropped right in the middle of nature. It didn't blend in, not really. If anything, it stood out, like it was daring the wilderness to swallow it whole. The circular garden out front was almost too perfect, with polished glass walls that reflected the sky and glowing stone paths that branched off toward different entrances. It all felt meticulously designed, maybe too much so, like someone had spent years trying to make this place feel inviting, but forgot how human life looked like.

At the center of the garden, there was a perfect triangle-shaped fountain. We came closer and I noticed silver letters gleaming at its base, spelling out the words: "Raising them for a bright future."

I glanced at Heather, but her face gave nothing away.

"You okay?" I asked.

She nodded. "It's weird seeing it again. That's all."

She walked to one of the entrances, a big glass door decorated with a silver arch, and rang the bell without hesitation. Before anyone answered, another voice came.

"Who are you?"

We turned around to face a little girl, no older than eight years, standing at the edge of the fountain. She had those big blue eyes, just like Heather's, but long blonde hair in a braid. She wore the sanctuary uniform, which looked like a superhero costume. It was one single piece, white, gray, and silver, with the Reg triangle on the place of her heart.

"We want to talk to someone in charge. Can you help us?" I said.

The little girl smiled and nodded. "Wanna know something? I've been selected as the Guardian of the Month!"

"The what?" I asked, frowning.

"The Guardian is the one kid who takes care of the vigilance of the sanctuary and can walk around at any time," Heather quickly explained.

"Exactly. Which means I'm in charge." The little girl jumped down from the fountain and came to us.

An eight-year-old in charge of the vigilance in a huge facility? No need to ask why Heather became that way.

Suddenly, the intercom sounded. "Hello?"

The little girl ran to it. "Megan here. There are a couple of visitors. Shall I let them in?"

The voice on the other side remained silent for a moment. "Sure."

With a buzz the door opened and Megan, the kid, pushed it and turned around, making a sign to let us in. Heather stood frozen for a moment and then turned to me.

"Would you mind waiting here?" She said. "I'd like to do it alone."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I need some space for myself right now."

"Not a problem. I'll wait here."

"Thank you." She and Megan disappeared behind the glass door, and I took a stroll around the garden. It felt so strange to think Heather had grown up in a place like that, that she was once the same little girl we met, that these gardens were her home. I didn't want to pity her, but somehow I couldn't help but feel a little sorrow. Despite my own wounds, I'd been fortunate enough to experience the embrace of a loving family, and those memories were what had sustained me through the toughest times. Heather had none of that, ever. She had to forge her own path, surrounded by people who saw her as a tool for the system. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of strength it must have taken for her to become the woman I knew. How much of herself she had to bury, how many walls she had to build, just to survive.