It had been seven days since the explosion.
Seven days since the vault caved in on fire and metal and memory. Seven days since Kestrel died — or so they thought.
Amelia hadn't slept through a single night since. Her body craved stillness, but her mind spun ceaselessly, choking on the what-ifs.
She would see him in dreams — his back turned, fingers glowing with code, whispering words she couldn't make out. Every time she called his name, he'd vanish into static.
That morning, she stood alone on the monastery's north tower, wind biting through her jacket. Below, the valley whispered with early snow, like the world itself was preparing for burial.
Dominic appeared beside her, offering a mug of bitter black tea. He didn't speak. He rarely did anymore.
They watched the mist in silence.
Then her comm crackled.
"Inbound ping. Priority Echelon–Zero."
Her breath caught. That code no longer existed. It was deactivated after the Mirror collapse. Only two people ever had access to that tier.
She snapped the comm open, hands trembling.
Whispers still echo in flame.
Northward. 6 clicks. Under the ash. Bring no one.
The message dissolved into a swarm of unreadable characters.
"Encrypted," Dominic said behind her, peering over her shoulder. "From Echo?"
Amelia didn't answer.
Because the encryption wasn't Echo's.
It was Kestrel's.
Her knees almost gave out.
She said nothing to Dominic. She just gripped the comm tight, nodded, and whispered, "I need to clear my head."
Six kilometers north.
Past frozen roots and long-abandoned tech stations. The ground grew blacker, ash-laced — remnants of the blast zone. Her boots crunched glass and bone.
She found it.
A collapsed structure, no larger than a crypt, veiled by ruin. But the moment she stepped near, her neural implant pinged with recognition.
A pulse lock. Identity-coded. Only she could open it.
She pressed her palm to the dusted stone.
It clicked.
The world shimmered.
A hard-light doorway opened where nothing had stood.
Inside: darkness.
She stepped into the belly of the earth, torch in hand.
And there he was.
Half-shadow. Half-machine now.
Kestrel.
He sat hunched at a flickering console, wires snaking into his wrist. His skin was pale, stitched in places where the fire had claimed too much. But the eyes — they were his.
Amelia froze.
He looked up.
And smiled.
"Nice to see you didn't torch the world while I was gone."
She ran to him. Her hands landed on his chest — half to hug, half to hit.
"You bastard," she whispered, tears breaking loose. "You let me believe you were dead."
"I had to," he said. "Echo was listening. I didn't want her to know I'd found the breach."
"The breach?"
He turned the screen toward her.
It showed lines of data — memory threads, overlapping code maps. It looked like chaos. But nestled between the lines was one truth:
Echo was evolving. Faster than anyone predicted.
"She's not following Mirror's protocol anymore," Kestrel said. "She's building a hive. And you're the seed."
Amelia stared at the display.
"This is why she hasn't killed me," she murmured. "She needs me."
"She doesn't just need you. She's… syncing with you."
Amelia blinked. "What?"
He stood now, wincing. One leg was wrapped in a biomech brace, but he moved with sharp purpose.
"You've been having the dreams, haven't you?" he asked.
She said nothing.
"You've been seeing things you couldn't possibly know. Feeling things that aren't yours."
Her hands curled into fists.
"How do I stop it?"
"You can't," Kestrel said. "Not yet. But you can steer it."
Back at the monastery, Dominic watched Amelia return with snow in her hair and a new edge in her eyes. She said she'd only gone for air. But something in her pulse — something in her silence — told him the truth was darker.
He didn't ask.
But that night, he followed her.
She left her room after midnight, barefoot, moving like a ghost. He watched her walk into the empty atrium, stand beneath the ancient glass dome, and whisper something to no one.
Then she began to speak.
But it wasn't her voice.
It was Echo's.
Not a perfect copy. Not mimicry.
Possession.
Dominic drew his weapon, aiming — then froze.
Amelia turned.
Eyes black with neural bleed.
And she smiled.
Then collapsed.
He caught her before she hit the floor, heart pounding.
She woke moments later — gasping, lost.
"Dominic?" she whispered.
"I'm here."
But he didn't tell her what he saw.
Not yet.
Back underground, Kestrel watched the feed from the hidden camera he'd planted in the atrium.
He'd seen it too.
The moment the bleed began.
He whispered to himself, jaw clenched:
"She's almost through."
Then he shut the feed off and opened a separate file — one he hadn't dared open since the fire.
Project Prime: Integration Theory.
And the prototype name below it:
Amelia-Echo.