They didn't go back to Underforge right away. Too hot. Too many eyes. Instead they holed up in a derelict observation post on Level 19—cracked viewports overlooking the rain-lashed Midspire, furniture long since scavenged, only a few flickering holo-screens for company.
Elara sat against the wall, knees drawn up, staring at nothing. The others slept in shifts. Thorne kept watch near the door, flames low enough not to draw attention.
She couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Jax's face. And behind it, Crowe's cold smile.
Thorne finally broke the silence. "You're thinking about him."
"About both of them," she said. "Jax… and the man who probably ordered my mother harvested."
Thorne moved closer, sat beside her. His heat was comforting now, less like a threat. "You never told me the full story."
Elara exhaled. "I was ten. We lived in the Lower Mid—nothing fancy, but safe enough. Mom worked maintenance for Arc. One night she came home late. Hands shaking. Told me to pack a bag. Said we were leaving the city."
She paused. The memory still tasted like copper.
"Enforcers came before we finished. Mom pushed me into the crawlspace under the floor. Told me not to make a sound. I watched through the grate as they dragged her out. Blue light pouring from her fingers—stronger than anything I'd ever seen. She looked right at me. Mouth shaped the word 'hide.' Then they were gone."
Thorne was quiet for a long time. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Sorry doesn't change anything." She flexed her hand; tiny sparks danced. "I buried it after that. Told myself it was safer. Until the alley."
He reached over, covered her hand with his. Warm. Steady. "You're not buried anymore."
Before she could answer, a priority ping lit one of the salvaged screens. Lila's face appeared—grainy, urgent.
"They've got your location triangulated," she said. "Hunter team inbound. But there's something else. Crowe's office pinged an internal memo. Your name's in it. Full file. He's requesting personal custody."
Elara's stomach dropped. "Why me?"
Lila hesitated. "The memo references 'Project Prime Echo – Subject Elara Voss.' And a genetic match to… him."
Thorne's tattoos flared. "What?"
"Crowe's listed as biological contributor. He's your father."
The words landed like a suppression dart.
Elara laughed—short, bitter. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" Thorne asked quietly.
She stood. "We're ending this tonight."
They moved fast. A stolen grav-lift took them up through service levels, straight to the Spire's private access shaft. Security was lighter here—arrogance, not oversight. Elara shorted cameras; Thorne melted locks. They reached Crowe's private floor in under twenty minutes.
The office was vast. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing city. Rain streaked the glass like tears. Crowe stood at the desk, back turned, silver hair catching the light.
He didn't startle when they entered.
"You're late," he said.
Thorne's flames roared to life. "Hands where I can see them."
Crowe turned slowly. His eyes—cold blue, eerily like Miko's but without the glow—locked on Elara.
"You look like her," he said. "But you fight like me."
Elara's voice was steel. "You killed her."
"I spared you," Crowe corrected. "When your power first manifested at ten, the protocols demanded immediate harvest. I overrode them. Told the board you were… promising. Kept tabs. Waited."
"For what?"
"For you to become useful." He gestured at the window. "This city runs on fear. Echoes are the fuel. But uncontrolled fuel is dangerous. The Nullifier fixes that. Makes power safe. Controllable. Yours especially."
Elara stepped forward. "I'm not your experiment."
"You already are." Crowe tapped a console. Holo-screens bloomed—genetic maps, power readings, childhood photos Elara had never seen. "Prime Echo potential. Technopathy at that level is generational. Your mother carried the recessive. I carried the dominant. You're the proof."
Thorne moved between them. "She's not yours."
Crowe smiled thinly. "She never was yours either, rebel."
Alarms began to wail—soft at first, then rising.
Crowe's smile widened. "Rescue team. How predictable."
The doors burst open. Enforcers poured in. Thorne's fire exploded outward; Elara sent a surge through the floor grid, frying half the squad's dampeners.
In the chaos, Crowe retreated to a private lift.
Elara lunged after him. Thorne grabbed her arm. "Not worth it!"
"He knows how to stop the Nullifier," she snarled. "He built it."
Thorne's eyes burned. "Then we take the fight to the tower."
They fought their way out—fire and lightning carving a path through armor and pulse fire. By the time they reached the shaft, half the floor was in flames.
Crowe's voice echoed over speakers as the lift doors closed.
"Six days, Elara. Choose a side. Or watch them all burn."
The lift dropped.
Elara slammed her fist against the wall. Sparks flew.
Thorne pulled her close. "We're not done."
She looked up at him, eyes fierce. "No. We're just getting started."
Outside, Neonspire glittered—beautiful, cruel, waiting.
And somewhere in its heart, a father waited for his daughter to break.
Or to burn brighter than he ever could.