The cold seeped through the soles of Aria's boots, but she barely noticed. Her eyes were locked on the girl—the clone—sitting cross-legged on the metal floor of the underground vault. The girl looked up at her with a mix of wonder, fear, and a strange emptiness, as though she hadn't decided whether she deserved to exist yet.
"I don't have a name," the clone whispered, her voice barely audible over the faint hum of the cryo-machinery lining the walls.
Aria crouched down in front of her. "You should have one."
Kael was behind her, rigid with unease, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his blade. "This is a mistake," he said under his breath.
"No. It's mercy," Aria shot back quietly.
The clone stared at her fingers, curling and uncurling them slowly, as if feeling something for the first time. "They made me to be you. A better you. Faster. Colder."
Aria's chest ached. "That's not better. That's broken."
For the first time, the clone blinked as if seeing her surroundings for what they were—a prison, not a lab. "Then what do I do now?"
"You start over," Aria said. "Not as me. Not as them. As you."
Silence stretched between them like a bridge made of ice. Finally, Aria extended her hand. The clone hesitated, then took it.
"Rhea," Aria said, her voice firm. "That's your name now. Rhea."
The clone—no, Rhea—nodded slowly. "Rhea," she repeated, as though testing it on her tongue for the first time. A small, hesitant smile flickered across her lips.
Behind them, Kael sighed but didn't protest. That was as close to approval as they'd get from him tonight.
As they made their way out of the vault, Aria couldn't help but feel a strange mix of dread and hope curling in her chest. She had just chosen to protect a ghost of herself. What kind of story was she writing now?