The world moved in slow motion.
Lyra stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as thin trails of smoke curled from her fingertips. The shattered glass still glittered on the floor like pieces of a broken star.
Ren stared at her in horrified awe. "You weren't supposed to activate without—"
"Without what?" she snapped, her voice trembling. "Without someone controlling me?"
He didn't answer. His eyes flicked toward the door, calculating his next move.
Lyra saw it before he did — the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand inched toward his pocket.
She was faster.
She slammed him against the wall, her arm pressing across his throat. "You sent them our location," she hissed. "How long until they get here?"
Ren's voice came out strangled. "Fifteen… maybe twenty minutes."
"Then you'd better start talking."
---
Damien staggered into the room, still pale but alert. "What's going on—?"
"Your friend here sold us out," Lyra said, not taking her eyes off Ren. "The Syndicate's coming."
Damien's expression hardened. "Tell me that's not true."
Ren's gaze flicked between them. "You think I wanted this? They have my daughter. I had no choice!"
The words hit the room like a gunshot.
Lyra faltered, her grip loosening slightly. "Your daughter?"
Ren nodded, breath ragged. "They took her years ago. Said they'd release her if I stayed useful. I never meant to—"
Damien stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. "You still lied to us."
"I didn't want anyone else to die!" Ren shouted. "But they'll kill her if I don't—"
A sudden crash from outside cut him off.
Headlights swept across the windows. Black SUVs. Engines idling.
They were already here.
---
Damien grabbed a pistol from the table and tossed another to Lyra. "We move now. Back exit."
Ren stumbled after them. "Please—take me with you."
Lyra hesitated. "After what you did—"
"He's coming," Damien said. "We're not leaving anyone behind."
Lyra glared at him but didn't argue. They pushed through the rear door into the narrow alley behind the building. Cold rain had started to fall, soaking them instantly.
She could hear boots pounding the pavement — trained, synchronized. Syndicate operatives.
"Down the service road!" Damien shouted.
They ran. Bullets sliced through the rain, sparks flying off metal. Lyra ducked behind a dumpster, returning fire. Damien covered her, moving with lethal precision despite his injury.
Ren stumbled, gasping. "There's a warehouse across the bridge! We can hide there!"
"Move!" Lyra grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.
---
They reached the bridge — an old structure spanning the river, its steel bones groaning in the storm.
Halfway across, Lyra saw the SUVs rounding the corner behind them.
"Keep going!" Damien yelled.
Lyra turned and fired again, buying them seconds. But there were too many.
Ren slipped, his foot catching on a loose grate. He fell hard, clutching his leg.
"Go!" he shouted. "I'll slow you down."
Damien turned back, but Lyra grabbed his hand. "We can't—"
Gunfire erupted. Ren jerked violently as bullets tore through him.
Lyra screamed, but Damien dragged her forward. "We can't save him now!"
They ran the last stretch of the bridge and dove behind an abandoned truck at the far end.
The air was thick with the smell of rain, metal, and gunpowder.
Lyra pressed her forehead against the cold steel. "They killed him because of me."
Damien shook his head. "They killed him because he helped you. There's a difference."
She met his gaze — rain running down both their faces, eyes locked in something raw and unspoken.
"You still think I'm worth saving?" she asked quietly.
He brushed a strand of wet hair from her cheek. "Always."
---
They slipped into the warehouse — dark, silent, filled with shadows and the faint hum of electricity. Damien checked the perimeter while Lyra stood near the center, trying to steady her breathing.
Her fingers still tingled with that strange, electric heat from before. Every nerve felt alive — too alive. The room's lights flickered in sync with her pulse.
"Something's wrong with me," she whispered.
Damien turned toward her. "You're not broken, Lyra. You're just… waking up."
She shook her head. "I felt it back there. Like the air was burning. Like I could tear everything apart if I wanted to."
"And you didn't," he said. "That means you're still in control."
"Am I?" Her voice cracked. "Because when I saw Ren die, I wanted to burn them all. I didn't care who they were. I just wanted them gone."
Damien stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Then maybe that's what they wanted you to become."
Lyra looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"Project Helix wasn't about strength," he said softly. "It was about obedience. They built you to kill without hesitation. The rage you feel — that's the part of you they designed."
Her chest tightened. "Then what part is me?"
He hesitated. "The part that's still asking that question."
---
They found a small office on the second floor and barricaded themselves inside. Damien worked to patch his wound again, while Lyra paced the room, restless.
The rain outside had turned into a storm, the thunder echoing like distant bombs.
"Do you think they'll stop?" she asked.
"No," he said. "Not until they have you."
"Then we go to them first."
He looked up sharply. "What?"
Lyra turned to face him, eyes hard. "We find Vega. We find whoever's running the Syndicate now. We end it."
"That's suicide."
"It's justice."
"Lyra—"
"I'm done hiding, Damien. Every second we run, someone else dies because of me. I'm not letting them do this again."
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Then we'll need a plan."
Her lips curled into a faint, grim smile. "Good. Because I already have one."
---
Hours later, after Damien fell asleep in the chair beside the window, Lyra stood watching him. The storm had quieted, but the city still glowed faintly in the distance — alive and dangerous.
She thought about the memories that weren't hers. The experiments. The fire. The endless screams in her head.
And then, faintly, she heard it again. A voice.
Lyra…
She froze. The voice was soft, almost gentle, but it came from everywhere — inside her, around her, echoing through the warehouse walls.
You can't run from what you are.
Her hands clenched. "Who are you?"
You know me.
"No," she whispered. "You're dead."
Dr. Keane never dies, the voice said smoothly. He evolves.
Her vision blurred. Images flashed through her mind — white halls, restraints, Keane's cold smile. Her own screams. Then something new: a glimpse of Damien, standing beside Keane, silent.
"No," she whispered, clutching her head. "That's not real—"
Memory is malleable, Keane's voice purred. You, of all people, should know that.
Lyra dropped to her knees, shaking. Her pulse raced, the strange fire surging under her skin again.
And then, just as suddenly, the voice was gone — replaced by silence and the faint hum of the city below.
---
When morning came, Damien woke to find Lyra gone.
He cursed, grabbed his gun, and ran out into the gray dawn.
He found her standing on the riverbank, the city skyline reflected in the water like a thousand knives. Her hair clung to her face, damp with mist, eyes distant and unreadable.
"You shouldn't wander off like that," he said quietly.
She didn't look at him. "He talked to me."
Damien froze. "Who?"
"Keane."
"That's impossible."
She turned to him then, eyes glinting with something both terrified and fierce. "Nothing about me is impossible anymore."
He stepped closer. "What did he say?"
"That he's alive. That he's been in my head all along."
"Lyra—"
"I saw you," she cut in. "In the lab. Standing next to him."
His mouth opened, but no words came.
"It wasn't real," he said finally. "They spliced your memories. They used mine, yours, whoever they could to control you."
"How do I know that's not just another lie?"
He didn't answer — because deep down, he wasn't sure anymore either.
---
They walked in silence for a while. The city felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath.
Finally, Damien said, "There's something you should see."
He led her to a hidden storage unit on the edge of the industrial district. Inside were stacks of old files, weapons, photos — evidence of a world that shouldn't exist.
"This was my insurance," he said. "Every operation, every experiment, every person involved in Helix. I started gathering it the day I left."
Lyra ran her fingers over the dusty folders. "How many others were there?"
"Forty-three subjects. Only three survived past phase four. You're the only one still unaccounted for."
"What happened to the others?"
He hesitated. "They burned them."
She closed her eyes. "And me?"
"You burned them back," he said quietly. "That's what no one understood. You didn't escape. You destroyed the facility."
She looked up sharply. "I did?"
He nodded. "You don't remember because they scrambled your memories afterward. They tried to use the trauma to keep you docile."
The words sank in like ice. She had killed them. All of them. The scientists. The guards. Maybe even people who didn't deserve it.
And yet, deep inside, she felt no guilt — only the faint spark of something darker.
"I guess I finished what they started," she said bitterly.
"No," Damien said firmly. "You ended it. There's a difference."
---
As they sifted through the files, Lyra found a folder labeled "Echo Protocol." Inside was a list of code sequences and neurochip schematics — and one chilling note at the bottom.
> "Subject L-09: Neural connection stabilized. Remote access pending."
Her blood ran cold. "Remote access?"
Damien read over her shoulder, his expression darkening. "They implanted something in you — a control mechanism. That's how Keane's voice is reaching you."
Lyra's throat tightened. "Then we get it out."
He looked at her. "That's not going to be easy."
She smirked faintly. "Nothing ever is."
---
Outside, thunder rolled again — distant but growing closer.
Lyra closed the folder and looked out toward the skyline.
"They think I'm their creation," she said softly. "But they have no idea what they made."
Damien stood beside her, silent for a long moment. Then he said, "Whatever's coming next, we face it together."
Lyra turned to him, eyes glimmering with that dangerous, defiant spark. "Then let's burn their world to the ground."
---