Morgan and Thomas stepped through the bridge door.

  On the other side, the world felt different.

  The sky was blue, without the slightest trace of pollution—something truly astonishing for someone who had grown up in the old city. As his eyes swept across the place, Morgan found himself staring at an enormous stone, raised like a gigantic totem, marked with glowing runes that made the surroundings feel almost magical. It stood exactly at the center of the property, as if everything had been designed around it.

  Morgan paused for a moment, taking in the sight. The massive stone at the heart of the community dominated the open field, imposing and silent, like an ancient landmark.

  — Welcome to Elysium, — Thomas said, a restrained pride in his voice.

  They began walking across the field, heading toward the cabins arranged in a circle.

  The grass was a vivid green, and the night dew—still drying—lent the air a pleasant scent. A faint, luminous aura made the landscape even more beautiful. Everything looked as though it had come straight out of a fairy tale.

  Morgan stopped for a moment when he realized he could hear his own breathing. Everything felt so quiet. He drew in air with all his strength and felt as though life were filling his lungs after a long time.

  — How do you feel, Morgan? — Thomas asked.

  — Fine.

  Thomas raised an eyebrow slightly.

  — Don’t you notice any difference?

  Morgan thought for a second.

  — No. Should I?

  Thomas discreetly pointed to Morgan’s hands.

  — Here, you’re free of that. — His eyes lingered on the implants. — Don’t you feel better?

  Morgan looked down at his hands. The implants were dark, inert. Still, he remained silent.

  — Don’t you feel violated? — Thomas continued. — With technology invading your body?

  — I don’t see a problem, if it makes us better.

  Thomas smirked.

  — Better at what, exactly? — he asked. — At tasks that didn’t even exist before they created those things?

  Morgan shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Thomas seemed pleased.

  — Maybe we have more in common than you want to admit. — He broke into a broader smile. — It’ll be good for you to be here at Elysium. To taste a little freedom. To live life, Morgan!

  Morgan shot him a hard look.

  — I’m not here to join your cult, Thomas. — He made a broad gesture with his hand. — The way you talk, it almost sounds like there isn’t a dead girl in your backyard.

  They approached the cluster of small wooden cabins forming a circle around the stone. Narrow paths of white pebbles cut through the grass, all leading toward the rock, which was encircled by a grassy ring where several people—each dressed in robes—sat meditating.

  — Monica… — Thomas said, releasing a controlled sigh. — It was truly a tragedy.

  — She’s the reason I’m here. — Morgan didn’t slow his pace. — What can you tell me about the night of the crime?

  Thomas took a few seconds before answering.

  — Not much. Monica attended our nightly meditation. After that, we said our goodbyes… everything was normal. — He shrugged. — By the time of the intrusion, we were already back in our cabins. Most of us asleep.

  Morgan frowned.

  — Intrusion? You were invaded?

  Thomas turned to him, almost offended.

  — Yes. Of course we were invaded. — His voice hardened slightly. — Do you think we’d be capable of that kind of profanation?

  — Any idea who the intruders were?

  — I have my suspicions, but nothing I can prove. — Thomas sighed. — Many groups hate us.

  He opened his arms, gesturing to the community around them.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Morgan tried to keep a neutral expression, but the blue sky, the green grass, the sense of peace and harmony—and above all, that stone—made it very hard not to admit how impressive the place truly was.

  — Look at this! Paradise! — Thomas said with conviction. — Our way of life bothers a lot of people!

  Paradise… It felt as if Thomas had read his thoughts.

  — Why would anyone care about your way of life? — Morgan asked.

  Thomas didn’t hesitate.

  — Because we turn slaves into people. Working at what you hate to buy what you don’t need. — His voice gained intensity. — People are crushed every day by the demand for performance.

  They kept walking, now approaching the edge of the field, where the forest began.

  — They get implants and body modifications for one reason only: to work better. To produce more. — Thomas shook his head. — Not here. Here, consumers become human again.

  Morgan met his gaze.

  — Those are valid reasons for people to dislike you. — He paused. — But for murder?

  The vegetation began to close in ahead of them.

  The grass thinned until they were stepping onto damp soil, covered in leaves fallen from the towering trees that formed a beautiful grove. The blue sky was swallowed by the canopy, but sunlight leaking through the leaves created a striking scene, crowned by the smell of wet earth.

  — Fear, Morgan, — Thomas replied. — Society has always been controlled by fear. — His tone grew heavier. — With Elysium succeeding, people can see that an alternative exists.

  He stopped and faced Morgan directly.

  — They can’t allow that. They need to scare people back into the fields.

  Morgan thought for a moment.

  — Such a direct attack doesn’t seem like a good strategy, — he said. — There’s a strong chance the public will sympathize with Elysium.

  Thomas smiled, but there was something cold behind the gesture.

  — Technocrats don’t devise strategies, Morgan. — His voice was almost didactic. — They just follow an algorithm. A straight line that, in the end, brings death to people… and life to the machine.

  Thomas and Morgan left the open field and entered the dense forest.

  Daylight faded quickly beneath the treetops, filtered through thick branches and dense leaves. The air was colder there, heavier.

  Morgan caught the scent of moss and saw mushrooms growing around the roots. Walking more carefully, he noticed insects moving slowly across the lower plants, the distant song of birds cutting through the silence. Even with Thomas right beside him, he felt a loneliness he had never experienced before.

  — Technocrats? — Morgan asked as they walked. — Why do you think it was them?

  Thomas didn’t slow his pace.

  — You’ll see.

  They went deeper into the woods for several minutes. The path seemed familiar to Thomas, even though there was no defined trail.

  — We’re almost there, — he said.

  A few more steps.

  — Here.

  The clearing opened before them.

  The ritual was still set up. The smooth stone remained at the center, cold and unmoving, surrounded by symbols and markings on the ground. The girl’s body, however, was no longer there.

  Only the smooth stone—shaped by nature as if to be a table—bearing a small bloodstain upon its surface. For a moment, Morgan looked around. The cold, the silence, and the shadows created a feeling of desolation. Poor girl.

  Morgan stepped forward, approaching the circle. Thomas stayed a few steps back, distancing himself from the scene.

  On the ground, the symbols remained intact: zeros and ones drawn with obsessive precision, forming a circle around the stone.

  Morgan frowned.

  — Binary code?

  He knelt to examine it more closely.

  The precision of the markings was millimetric; they looked as though they had been laser-engraved.

  Thomas cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable.

  — Forgive me, but I’d like to leave, if my presence isn’t required. — He avoided looking directly at the stone. — I don’t feel very well here… and I have many duties.

  Morgan didn’t look up.

  — You can go.

  Thomas looked relieved.

  — But I’ll send someone to accompany you.

  Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked away into the forest, his footsteps soon swallowed by the sounds of the woods.

  Morgan turned his attention back to the octagram surrounding the binary circle.

  The proportions and lines were perfect. Perfect enough to provoke a strong sense of unease amid the surrounding nature—so organic and chaotic.

  That was when he noticed the footprints.

  Outside the octagram, smooth impressions in the soil mixed with deep combat-boot prints. Nearby, small droplets of blood speckled the dark earth.

  Closer to the stone where the body had been sacrificed, there were only boot prints.

  Morgan stepped closer to the stone.

  The smooth surface still bore traces of the ritual. There was blood, but very little of it. Just a discreet stain—almost too clean for the violence that should have taken place there.

  — Too little blood…

  In a ritual, with the victim struggling and fear-driven adrenaline pumping, a cut—no matter how precise—would certainly have left much more of the stone’s surface drenched in blood.

  A dry sound echoed among the trees.

  Morgan lifted his head.

  The noise repeated—branches shifting, something being dragged or stepped on carelessly. Morgan rose slowly and moved toward the forest, following the sound.

  The moment he entered, the rustling of leaves and branches intensified, as if realizing it had been noticed had caused whoever made the noise to flee.

  Morgan quickened his pace.

  Limited visibility and unfamiliar terrain made his heart race. Seeking some sense of security, his hand instinctively gripped the handle of his revolver.

  Suddenly, he stopped.

  His body froze before his mind could even process what he was seeing.

  Between the trees, illuminated by an uneven shaft of light, a boy played absently with a stick, scratching the ground as if nothing else in the world existed.

  It was the same boy from the photograph in Morgan’s apartment.

  Morgan felt the air leave his lungs.

  — Mick?