Ghosts Never Stay Dead
**Kaia**
I didn't go home.
After Damon left me in that glass-walled hell of his—mouth swollen from his kiss, fury boiling in my veins—I needed answers, not more riddles and heat-drenched chaos.
So I drove.
Past midnight. Past fear.
Into the heart of the city's underbelly, where favors were bartered like currency and truth came with blood on its hands.
I parked outside an abandoned textile factory on the outskirts of Rhisborne. Once owned by my family. Now? Forgotten like the rest of our legacy.
But not *everyone* was forgotten.
The contact I came to see had been waiting in the shadows—like he always did.
"I wondered when the dead girl would crawl out of her grave."
My stomach twisted. "You still talk in riddles, Cyrus?"
Cyrus Alenko. Former family ally. Now a ghost with secrets buried deeper than corpses.
He stepped out of the dark, all tattoos and scars and eyes that had seen too much.
"I don't have much time," I said. "But I need to know everything you kept from me. Especially about Project Echo."
His face went still.
And for once, the swagger dropped.
"You remember that?"
"I'm starting to," I whispered. "Flashes. Screams. Steel doors. Needles."
He swore under his breath.
Then: "Kaia… Project Echo wasn't just about your family's enemies. It was about you."
My blood turned to ice. "What do you mean?"
He hesitated, then pulled a data chip from his jacket. "I kept this in case you ever came back. I hoped you wouldn't."
I snatched it from him, trembling. "What's on it?"
"Proof." His voice dropped. "Of what was done to you. And why your memory was altered."
I staggered back. "You're saying Damon knew?"
Cyrus didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
My heart was already screaming.
---
**Damon**
I slammed the door behind me the second I got home.
Why the hell had I kissed her?
Why did her anger taste like salvation?
I poured myself another drink—my third—and stared at the city lights while the shadows of the past closed in.
Project Echo.
That goddamn name.
I'd buried it. Buried *her* memory of it.
To protect her? Maybe.
To protect myself? Definitely.
The truth was—Kaia wasn't just caught in the crossfire that day.
She was the weapon they had created.
And when she finds out, she'll never look at me the same again.
Good.
Because I don't deserve the way she still looks at me.
---
**Kaia**
I didn't sleep again.
I watched the footage Cyrus gave me on an encrypted tablet in a motel room that stank of mold and regret.
It was all there.
Me. Seven years ago. Strapped to a gurney. My mother screaming. My father… signing papers.
And Damon—young, furious—trying to stop it.
Failing.
He'd known.
He'd *seen*.
And he'd never told me.
A sob ripped through me.
I wanted to kill him.
But I wanted the truth more.
---
The next morning, I walked into his penthouse.
I didn't knock.
Didn't speak.
I just stood there in the silence while he stared at me from the balcony, a glass in hand, dressed in nothing but slacks and the weight of his sins.
"You knew," I said quietly.
He didn't deny it.
"You lied," I whispered.
"I protected you," he countered.
"*You broke me.*"
I was shaking. Not from fear, but from fury laced with something worse—betrayal laced with desire.
"I should destroy you," I said.
He stepped forward. "Then do it."
We were inches apart. My hands curled into fists.
But instead of striking him—
I kissed him.
Like it would kill us both.
Like it was the only language left between us.
His mouth claimed mine in a frenzy. Rough. Starving. His hands tangling in my hair, pressing me against the nearest wall. I moaned into him—furious and undone.
"Tell me you hate me," he growled.
"I do," I gasped.
"Liar."
He lifted me like I weighed nothing. Carried me through the halls. The world blurred around us.
But my rage didn't.
Even when we burned together, I never forgot what he'd done.
And I wouldn't forgive him.
Not until I had the whole truth.