The lab was still bathed in artificial daylight, despite it being well past midnight outside. The kind of light that made time feel irrelevant—a trick for those who worked too long and thought too deeply.
Mira stood barefoot against the glass wall, her hands pressed lightly on the surface, watching the reflection of herself. But she wasn't looking at her face. Her eyes were fixed on the empty bed behind her. The one where the original Lily used to sleep, according to Alina.
"Do you think she was like me?" Mira asked softly, without turning around.
Alina, who had entered silently, paused by the door. "She was… different. Quieter. But you both share the same fire."
Mira blinked. "Fire?"
"The way you demand the world to notice you. Even when you're scared." Alina stepped closer. "That's what she had too."
Mira's lips twitched, but she didn't smile. "You miss her."
Alina nodded. "Every day."
Mira finally turned, bare feet making no sound on the polished floor. "Would you trade me… for her?"
The question sliced through Alina like a razor—unexpected and cruel only because it was honest.
"I don't want to trade you," she said at last. "I want to know you."
Mira tilted her head. "But I'm made of her, aren't I?"
"No," Alina replied gently. "You're made of stardust, same as everyone else."
Mira's mouth opened slightly, caught between confusion and understanding. "Then why do I remember things I've never lived?"
"That's what we're going to find out," Alina said. "Together."
Leonard paced in the control room. A digital map of Europe blinked beside him, tracking satellite pings and low-frequency signal fluctuations. Something was circling them. Not a military drone, not even a recon AI.
Something… older. Hand-built.
"Third pass in the last hour," Rafe muttered, eyes narrowed. "It's not ours."
"No," Leonard agreed. "And it's not Elara's signature either. She uses silent beacons, not visible scans."
Rafe leaned over the console. "You think another prototype is close?"
"I think we've got company that knows exactly what Mira is."
He zoomed in on the satellite trail. The path formed a perfect triangle—Zurich, Marseille, and one more ping... just north of Tangier.
"What's there?" Rafe asked.
Leonard answered without hesitation.
"Prototype Two."
Back in Mira's chamber, the girl sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by paper sketches—images she had drawn from memory and dreams.
One showed a boy with red gloves and tear-streaked cheeks.
Another showed a glass room—different from hers. Dimmer. Angled walls. A single observation drone above.
"That's him again," Alina murmured, kneeling beside her. "You've drawn him every day."
Mira nodded. "He's scared. He hides his eyes. He says he wasn't supposed to wake up."
Alina stiffened. "Did he say where he is?"
"No. But the walls… they smell like sea air."
Alina exchanged a glance with Rafe, who had just entered the room.
"She's connecting across the neural imprint web," Rafe said under his breath. "Echoes stronger than expected."
"She's reaching him," Alina said.
Mira looked up. "He's my twin, isn't he?"
Alina hesitated. Then: "In a way."
Mira tilted her head. "Then why is he alone?"
Tangier – Hidden facility, Prototype Two's chamber
The room was nearly dark except for flickering red lights overhead.
A boy sat huddled in the corner, staring at his fingers.
They were stained with blood.
His own.
Again.
"Stop shaking," he whispered to himself. "Stop remembering."
But the dreams were louder now. Not just of pain—but of her. The girl with his eyes.
Mira.
He saw her in flickers. Talking to someone. Drawing. Laughing.
And every time he saw her, something in his chest hurt.
He stood abruptly, walking to the mirror.
"I'm not broken," he told his reflection. "I'm not broken."
The lights dimmed further.
And behind him, a mechanical voice whispered:
"Prototype Two. Incoming signal detected. Synchronization accelerating."
The boy growled.
"They're coming for me, aren't they?"
He smiled, bitter.
"Good."
Marseille – Alina's Lab
Alina didn't sleep. Not anymore.
She stared at the encrypted logs she'd stolen from Elara's old Zurich lab. Inside were partial notes—fragmented references to what she now called "The Mirror Sequence."
Nine attempts.
Only Mira had survived without collapse. But Prototype Two, originally scrapped for instability, had been "reactivated under silent authorization."
"What authorization?" she murmured.
Leonard's voice interrupted her thoughts. "The kind you don't want to question unless you enjoy assassination attempts."
She didn't laugh. "If he's reaching out to Mira, he can't be unstable anymore."
"Or he's getting more dangerous," Leonard countered.
Alina turned to him. "I want to bring him in."
Leonard blinked. "You want to what?"
"He's not safe where he is. Elara let him out for a reason. He's a fail-safe. She'll destroy him the second he outlives his usefulness."
"And you think bringing him into this—a secret lab with one unstable prototype already bonding to you emotionally—is a better idea?"
Alina's voice was steady. "Yes."
Leonard sighed. "I'll prep the jet."
Later That Day – Mira's chamber
Mira traced the lines of her newest drawing—this time, it was a map.
Alina stared at it with quiet horror.
It was Tangier.
The city. The docks. The coastline.
"Have you seen this place?" she asked.
Mira shook her head. "No. But he has."
"How do you know?"
"He sent it to me in a dream. Last night. He said, 'Find me, before they turn me off again.'"
Alina's hands trembled slightly.
"Mira," she whispered, "if we go there… you might see things that hurt."
The girl looked up, eyes filled with more courage than any child should have.
"Then let me hurt. Just don't leave him alone."
Tangier – Midnight, 48 hours later
The wind howled along the Moroccan cliffs. The lab was hidden inside a decaying naval base, forgotten by history but not by the elite.
Alina led the way, pistol in hand. Behind her, Mira walked slowly, like she already knew where to go.
Leonard stayed back to secure the exit route.
"This way," Mira whispered, pointing to a sealed blast door. "He's down there."
Alina hacked the lock.
The door hissed open.
They stepped inside.
A scream echoed through the corridor.