They didn't sleep.
Not because the intruders came back—they didn't. Not because they weren't safe temporarily—they were. But because the quiet within the secret lab was louder than any sound outside.
Ava perched on the floor with her back against a file cabinet, knees drawn up to her chest, Rohit a few feet away on a corroded metal chair. In between them rested the leather-covered notebook her uncle had left. Neither of them had been willing to open it any further after they found the words Project ECHO hours earlier.
The mere name had been like something radioactive.
"I still can't believe he never said anything about this," Ava breathed, her voice rough with exhaustion.
"He wouldn't," Rohit replied without glancing at her. "That's the point."
She watched him in silence. The darkness under his eyes wasn't just because of the shattered light overhead. There was something carved deep there—grief, yes, but something else besides. A sort of calm, learned fear. And guilt. Always guilt.
How long have you been tracking this?" she asked.
He finally raised his head. "Six years."
She blinked. "Six?"
He nodded slowly. "After the fire… I thought it was just an accident. A freak one. I tried to move on. I failed. Then I discovered a document my father had kept hidden. Something that didn't belong. It had a different symbol. Like your uncle's."
A pause.
"The same symbol you read in that journal?
Not only that," he said. "It's showing up where it shouldn't. Old police files. Unsolved crimes. Obituaries with blacked-out information. It's like a thread that weaves through everything."
Ava looked down at the journal.
"And you believe my uncle was involved?"
"I believe," Rohit said slowly, "he discovered it first. And he attempted to close it down.
She said nothing for a second. Her fingers touched the borders of the journal lightly, as if fearing it would burn her.
Then quietly, "You told me a little while ago that your entire family… that they were—"
"Gone." His voice was empty. "All except my sister."
Ava's eyes widened. "You never told me you had a sister."
"I don't tell people many things," he replied, his mouth compressing. "Not anymore."
The tension between them pulled out again.
But this time, it was Ava who broke it.
....
[𝗙𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 - 𝗔𝘃𝗮 | 𝗧𝘄𝗼 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘀 𝗔𝗴𝗼]
It was raining at that time, too.
Ava stood at the roof of the college hallway, arms crossed, gritted teeth. Her umbrella had inverted inside out as soon as the wind became real. She was wet, aggravated, and utterly finished with the day.
Then Rohit appeared next to her, silent, and opened up his umbrella for her. No words.
She looked at him sideways. "Thanks. You didn't have to."
"I wanted to."
That was all.
But she remembered that instance more vividly than any sweetheart gesture anyone had ever made. No bouquets. No obligatory grins. Just unobtrusive presence.
Subsequent that week, when she had dissolved into tears behind the literature building for reasons she couldn't articulate, it was he who quietly passed her a bottle of water and didn't question.
That's what hooked her.
He never questioned.
He never judged.
And that's what made it hurt worse when he left.
......
Back in the laboratory, Ava slowly got up.
"We can't remain here."
Rohit glanced up. "It is the safest place at present."
"No. It's not. You yourself told me they know this building. They may return at any time."
He didn't dispute. Just remained by her side.
She faced him. "So… what next?"
He looked at her for a long moment. Then went to a nearby cabinet and opened the bottom drawer. Inside was a manila envelope, thick and worn.
He gave it to her.
"Your uncle left this with your name on it. No return address. Just a warning in the corner."
Ava hesitated.
The words scribbled in faded ink said:
"𝑰𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒐 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓."
Her fingers shook.
And gradually, she opened it slowly.
Inside were three things:
● A photo of three men standing in front of a chalkboard, all faces blurred out except one—her uncle.
● A newspaper clipping, yellowed with age, headlined: "𝘌𝘟𝘗𝘌𝘙𝘐𝘔𝘌𝘕𝘛𝘈𝘓 𝘔𝘌𝘋𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘛𝘙𝘐𝘈𝘓 𝘊𝘈𝘕𝘊𝘌𝘓𝘌𝘋 𝘋𝘜𝘌 𝘛𝘖 '𝘜𝘕𝘌𝘟𝘗𝘓𝘈𝘐𝘕𝘌𝘋 𝘚𝘐𝘋𝘌 𝘌𝘍𝘍𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘚.' "
● And a key. Old. Cold. Heavy.
"Do you know where this key goes?" she asked, looking up.
Rohit's eyes flashed on it.
"I've seen it before," he whispered.
Ava scowled. "Where?"
He swallowed.
"In the house that burned."
Her breath caught.
"You mean your—"
"My family home." His tone was flat. "The key was stored in my father's study. Stashed in the baseboard. I never told anyone."
Ava gazed at him.
It was all beginning to entwine—her uncle, Rohit's history, the symbol, the blaze, Project ECHO.
"What was your father working on?" she questioned slowly.
Rohit's reply struck her like a clap of thunder.
"𝐇𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎."
.......
𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀? 𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑳𝒀 𝑫𝑶 𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬 𝑹𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮. 𝑰𝑻 𝑯𝑬𝑳𝑷𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑾...!