Zarek HQ – Level 4 Secure Analysis Wing
[RECEIVER: ROWAN MERCER.]
[MESSAGE INBOUND.]
The words faded from the screen.
Rowan took an involuntary step back. The room around him was still—Lucian tense, Ava wide-eyed, Sharon whispering diagnostics under her breath.
But Rowan… couldn't hear them.
Because the message wasn't on the screen anymore.
It was in his mind.
A soft hum bloomed behind his eyes. Not painful. Familiar.
And then—
A flash.
Then silence.
Rowan stood in a forest—not like the one in Site R4. This one was burned. Ash clung to the ground like snowfall, and the trees were blackened skeletons.
He blinked.
The sky was violet. Wrong.
He turned—and saw Lucian, standing with his back to him, watching something he couldn't see.
"Lucian."
No response.
Rowan stepped forward—and sank. His foot plunged ankle-deep into something soft.
Soil?
No.
Ash.
His own blood.
He looked down.
A handprint in the ground. His. Bleeding at the edges.
The whisper came next—his own voice layered over a hundred others, distorted and low:
"You've made this choice before."
"And every time… it breaks you differently."
He gasped—and the world snapped back.
Zarek HQ – Recovery Lounge, Seconds Later
Rowan shot upright, hands gripping the edge of the couch like it might vanish beneath him.
Lucian was already kneeling in front of him, hand on his arm, eyes sharp with concern.
"Rowan—"
"I'm fine," Rowan said automatically, though his breath came fast and his pupils were still dilated. "The message… wasn't a message."
Ava crouched beside them. "What was it?"
He looked between them.
"It was a trigger. It unlocked something."
Sharon's voice cut in from the terminal.
"Confirmed. Veil system just expanded its map registry. Two new sites just appeared."
Command Deck – Minutes Later
The full team assembled again, tension palpable.
Sharon projected the updated map on the main screen.
A glowing network of rift nodes blinked in a constellation of blue and red.
Two new sites flickered like warning lights.
SITE V: THE THRESHOLD
SITE O: ORIGIN POINT
Quinn leaned forward. "Those weren't there before."
"No," Sharon replied. "They were sealed behind the same recursive lock as the message to Rowan."
Lucian's voice was low. "And now they're open."
Ari scoffed quietly. "Cool. Love it when the haunted network starts handing out directions."
Mira, arms crossed, eyes focused, murmured, "They're not just locations. They're… a sequence."
Sharon nodded. "Each site is time-locked. You don't just stumble into them. The system opens them in order."
Sloane, quiet until now, finally spoke. "Then someone designed this to be followed."
Sharon & Evelyn, Quiet Corner
Later, Sharon pulled Evelyn aside in the corridor just outside the command deck.
"I didn't want to say it in front of them," she said. "But that phrase—'the version that worked'—I've seen it before."
Evelyn's gaze sharpened. "Where?"
Sharon glanced down at the pad in her hands.
"In a locked red-access archive. Not system-generated. A letter. Authored by Lucian Vaughn."
Evelyn's voice dropped. "Which version of him?"
Sharon looked up. "I don't think we've met that one yet."
Rift Map Live Feed
The command screen blinked again.
New text scrolled along the side of the Rift Map:
[STEP 1: COMPLETE.]
[STEP 2: SITE V - ACTIVE.]
Ava read the live feed quietly. "The system isn't remembering. It's reconstructing."
Lucian looked at Rowan.
Rowan whispered, "I think we're being asked to choose again."
And from across the room, Evelyn's voice—low and sharp—cut through the tension:
"Then we better decide who we send in next.
Because the system's stopped waiting."
Zarek HQ – Command Deck, Briefing Room
The Rift Map hovered in the air like a silent threat, pulsing slowly as Site V glowed with fresh activation.
A new window blinked open—parameters being set, authorization requests cascading in real time. The system wasn't waiting for approval. It was assemblingexpectations.
Evelyn stood at the center table, eyes narrowed.
"We move fast. Before it shifts."
Ava stood beside her, arms folded. "No standard formations. This isn't a combat site. We need compatibility and memory coverage."
"Agreed," Evelyn said. "We're choosing based on psychological alignment. Not strength."
She tapped the control pad. Names rotated. Profiles flashed.
Primary Entry Team
Rowan Mercer.
Lucian Vaughn.
Nolan Voss.
Mira Kael.
Quinn Reyes.
A quiet passed.
Lucian didn't flinch.
Rowan simply nodded, jaw tight.
Mira gave a slight tilt of her head—approval or challenge, hard to say.
Nolan was quiet, eyes focused.
Quinn exhaled. "Guess I'm back on echo babysitting."
Support Entry
Vespera Verrin.
Ari Winters.
Sloane Verrin.
A slight pause followed the final names.
Then Sloane spoke up, voice calm but edged.
"If it's not a combat site, what are we doing in support?"
Sharon responded from the side of the room, fingers still tapping data feeds.
"Site V is encoded with emotional recursion triggers. It pulls not just from memory, but from relational tension. You won't be fighting enemies. You'll be fighting misalignment."
She looked up.
"You're there to anchor the field."
Ari raised a brow. "Anchor as in—?"
Nolan cut in gently, "As in, when we lose sync—when someone starts unraveling or misremembering—Support can pulse stabilizers from outside the distortion field. Emotional dampeners. Reality reinforcement."
"Think of it like a resonance lighthouse," Ava said. "You're keeping our minds pointed north when everything inside wants to tilt."
Vespera nodded. "And if they can't reorient?"
"Then we pull them out," Evelyn said, voice clipped. "No hesitation."
Sloane's eyes flicked to the map, watching Site V shimmer like heat behind glass.
"And what happens if the site doesn't want them to leave?"
Sharon didn't answer right away.
Then:
"Then you go in."
Vespera looked to Rowan. "We'll keep the line open."
Ari leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. "No more mirror Rowan crap, please."
Rowan offered a dry smile. "I'll try to limit the self-reflection."
Lucian finally spoke, voice low but deliberate:
"Is this a test site?"
Evelyn looked at him.
"No. It's a message."
He studied her face.
"Do you know what it says?"
Her pause was answer enough.
As the team filed out toward prep, Sharon approached Rowan quietly.
She handed him a small, encrypted memory core.
"It was embedded in the cloth code. Encrypted with your biometric."
Rowan frowned, but took it.
"You sure it's for me?"
Sharon's voice was quiet.
"It's titled ROWAN_0. Last clean cycle."
His breath caught.
And Lucian, standing beside him, simply whispered:
"We're not just going to the next site."
"We're going back to the beginning."
Zarek HQ – Observation Room 3
The room was dim, lit only by the steady glow of the interface screen.
Rowan stood alone at the terminal. The encrypted memory core sat in a small case, embedded with a single thumbprint scanner.
ROWAN_0. Last clean cycle.
His breath was shallow as he pressed his thumb down.
The system unlocked with a soft click.
No grand message.
No static burst.
Just… a flickering projection.
Himself.
Younger. Softer.
Standing in front of the camera, nervous—maybe early in his Guiding years. His voice trembled as he spoke:
"If you're seeing this… then you made it past the point I never could."
"They won't tell you how many times it's happened. But I think you already know."
The projection swallowed, eyes glinting.
"I made my choice. I let him go. I thought it would save everyone."
"Maybe it did. But I stopped feeling real after that."
The message began to degrade—static edging the sides.
"If you want to find the version that worked… don't follow what I did."
The projection flickered once.
Then cut to black.
VTOL Deployment Hangar
The hum of engines vibrated through the deck as the sleek, matte-black VTOL waited, its rear hatch open under the floodlights. Inside, the lighting was low and soft—designed for long-haul atmospheric flight.
Rowan approached last, his coat fluttering slightly as he crossed the platform. His uniform was newer than usual—reinforced soft-shell layered under his black Guide jacket, resonance cuffs glowing faintly at his wrists. His hair was tousled, eyes still haunted from the message, but his expression had hardened into focus.
Lucian stood at the base of the ramp, already suited in black resonance armor over a longcoat. The violet accents at his cuffs pulsed slowly, and a half-sling of equipment rested on his shoulder. He said nothing as Rowan passed him—but their eyes locked, just for a moment.
Mira sat near the rear hatch, arms folded, sniper gear stowed beside her. Her hair was tied back, platinum white under the cabin lights, and her eyes were distant, already dissecting possibilities. She wore her streamlined black combat suit, stripped of insignia—efficient and silent.
Quinn sat opposite her, shoulders slightly hunched, jacket collar turned up. His hazel eyes watched the rest of the team enter with quiet focus. No tech in his hands—just a mug of lukewarm coffee and the edge of a frown.
"Everyone looks like they didn't sleep," he muttered.
Mira didn't look at him. "We didn't."
Nolan was seated next to Quinn, one leg crossed neatly, posture straight despite the slight circles under his eyes. His gear was light—a Guide's diagnostic rig and a resonance monitor affixed to his chest harness. He glanced toward Rowan as he entered.
"You okay?"
Rowan gave a vague nod as he sat, not answering.
Vespera, Ari, and Sloane entered from the side ramp, settling into the forward section of the cabin.
Vespera moved with liquid calm, her navy Guide coat draping like a ripple as she settled into the corner seat. Her silver chime pendant glinted at her chest. She offered Rowan a soft nod but didn't press.
Sloane took the seat nearest the wall, adjusting the stabilizers on his gauntlets. His long coat was soot-gray, sleeves rolled, expression unreadable as always.
Ari flopped into the jump seat across from him, hair pulled up into a loose tie, her tone dry.
"Can't wait to hallucinate my worst memories. Again."
Sloane murmured, "You might find something better than that."
"Unlikely," she said. "I've met me."
The cabin sealed.
The lights dimmed.
And the VTOL engines ignited.
Rowan looked across at Lucian—who had taken the seat nearest the back hatch, arms crossed, head lowered.
The hum of flight pressed around them.
Nobody spoke again.
Not yet.