The announcement came without warning.

  A mandatory assembly. All citizens—human and hybrid—ordered to gather in the central district. No weapons. No resistance.

  Arel knew it was a lie the moment he arrived.

  The plaza was surrounded by armed enforcers. Drones hovered overhead like mechanical vultures. The stage stood tall at the center, polished and untouched by the decay surrounding it.

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  When the Council spoke, their words were sharp and final.

  “All unmodified humans will be relocated,” the voice declared. “For their own safety.”

  Silence fell.

  Then chaos exploded.

  Humans screamed. Some ran. Others charged toward the stage in blind desperation. Enforcers opened fire—not to kill, but to cripple, to subdue. Still, people died. Bodies fell. Blood stained stone.

  Arel was pulled to the ground as the crowd surged. Someone grabbed his arm.

  “Move!” a voice hissed.

  He looked up and froze.

  Cat-like eyes. Scarred hands. A face caught between two worlds.

  Nyra.

  She dragged him through smoke and screams, weaving through collapsing order. Somewhere behind them, sirens wailed. Somewhere else, hope died.

  That night, humans vanished in large numbers.

  Not all were killed.