Aria's blade trembled in her grip.
Not from weakness—but disbelief.
The clone—the girl who looked like her, fought like her, moved like her—was not just strong. She was relentless. Precise. Too perfect.
Kael groaned from the corner where he'd been thrown against the wall. Xander was still on the floor, bleeding from a gash at his temple, barely conscious. Nyra was holding the clone off, her dual daggers spinning in a deadly blur—but even she couldn't gain ground.
Aria knew what this meant.
This fight wasn't about skill anymore. It was about will.
"You're not real," Aria muttered, stepping forward.
The clone tilted her head. "Neither are you. Not really."
A flicker of doubt shot through Aria's chest. She shoved it down.
"I've bled," she growled. "I've lost. I've loved."
"Experiences do not define identity," the clone replied. "They corrupt it."
They clashed again—metal on metal, each strike sending sparks into the frost-laced air. Aria remembered training with her father, bruises on her knees, ice in her lungs, the roar of the arena crowds in another lifetime. That pain—that hunger—had forged her. She had survived the Facility, betrayal, exile.
The clone had been frozen. Preserved. Programmed.
Aria ducked a sweeping blow and pivoted, slicing across the clone's thigh. This time, the silver-eyed girl winced.
"You're glitching," Aria said breathlessly.
"I'm adapting."
But there was hesitation now.
The clone faltered, blinking rapidly. Her hand twitched. Aria saw it—the lag, the doubt. She struck fast, feinting high and going low, slicing across the clone's ribcage.
Red bloomed against white.
And then—the clone looked up at her, eyes wide. Not in pain.
In fear.
"What is this?" she whispered, touching the blood at her side.
"It's called being alive," Aria replied.
The clone took a step back. Another. She was unraveling. Her breath caught. The perfect posture broke.
Kael stirred behind them, groaning as he reached for his blade.
"No," Aria said, stopping him.
She looked the clone in the eyes.
"I won't kill you."
"You should," the clone rasped.
"I'm not a monster," Aria whispered.
And somehow, that was the moment the clone broke—her knees hit the ground, her hands covered in her own blood, not from injury, but confusion.
"I don't know who I am…"
Neither did Aria.
But maybe… that was okay.