Nobela ni olukoladeadefusi

(Harris's POV - )Consciousness returned like a rusty scalpel scraping Harris's frontal lobe. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth—that distinctive bitter aftertaste of his mother's signature sedative cocktail. Ketamine, dexmedetomidine, and something new. Something that made his optic nerves pulse with every heartbeat. *Click. Click. Click.* The sound of restraints tightening. Harris forced his eyes open to see military-grade polymer bands securing his wrists to a steel chair, the kind used for volatile subjects in Facility Seven's high-security wing. The air smelled of scorched wiring and the cloying sweetness of artificial hemoglobin. Across the glass partition, the clone—Anna's gaunt doppelgänger—pressed her palms against the transparent wall. A fresh incision glistened at her temple, the skin around it already bruising the telltale lavender of accelerated healing. "Three hours, twenty-seven minutes," she rasped. Her pupils were dilated black, tracking something beyond Ha

(Harris's POV ) The Learjet bucked violently as it descended through storm clouds over Geneva. Harris Liam watched lightning fork across the Alps, its reflection warping in the rain-streaked window. His fingers tightened around the titanium briefcase handcuffed to his wrist—the one his mother had demanded he bring. The case he'd been warned never to open. "Dr. Liam?" The pilot's voice crackled through the cabin speakers. "We're being rerouted to Facility Seven." A chill crept down Harris's spine. Facility Seven didn't exist in any corporate directory. The mountain stronghold was where his mother conducted her most... controversial research. Where she'd taken him exactly once as a child, before he understood what the screams in the sublevel meant. The armored Maybach that met him on the tarmac smelled of gun oil and vetiver. His usual driver had been replaced by a silent woman with a neural implant pulsing at her temple—one of his mother's "enhanced" assistants. Rain drummed agains

(Luna's POV)The darkness after the vials shattered wasn't like normal dark. It pressed against my skin like wet velvet, humming with that same song the glass things had been singing. I squeezed Mother's hand tighter, feeling her claws prickle against my palm - not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me she was real. "Show yourself," Father growled. His silver knife made little lightning bolts in the black. Then I felt it—a warm breath against my neck. *"Sister."* I whirled around so fast my curls slapped my cheeks. The girl standing there looked almost like me. Same curly hair. Same nose. But her eyes... They weren't right. Not like Mother's pretty gold. These were wrong-color, like when you look at the sun too long and see purple spots after. When she tilted her head, I saw the numbers tattooed behind her ear: **VIII** in thick black ink. "You're the eighth one," I whispered. My throat felt full of bees. She smiled with too many teeth. "And you're the zero." The grown-ups

(Anna's POV)The vault door resisted Jackson's strength, its rusted iron hinges shrieking like a wounded animal. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the unnatural flutter beneath my ribs. The serum in my blood recognized what lay beyond that door - I could feel it waking inside me, making the blackened capillaries beneath my skin writhe like living vines. "Stay behind me," Jackson ordered, his silver dagger already drawn. Moonlight from the narrow cellar window cut across his face, hardening the tension in his jaw. The smell hit me first as the door gave way - formaldehyde and something darker, like wet earth after a grave has been opened. My transformed senses recoiled, every scent magnified to painful intensity. The damp stone walls seemed to pulse as we stepped inside, our footsteps echoing through the chamber. Luna's small hand found mine, her skin fever-hot against my palm. "They've been waiting for us," she whispered, her wide eyes reflecting the eerie blue glow emanating f

Jackson's POVThe grandfather clock struck three AM as I locked the cellar door behind us. The reinforced steel vibrated with the clone's snarls—*Anna's* snarls, twisted into something feral. Luna pressed her small face against the viewing slit, her breath fogging the glass. "She's scared," she whispered. I adjusted the silver chains around my bleeding wrists. The clone had taken three darts of wolfsbane to subdue. "She'll calm by sunrise." A lie. The Geneva serum in her veins was destabilizing by the hour. I'd seen the signs before—the blackened capillaries, the tremors, the way her pupils kept dilating to swallow the gold. Soon, not even Luna's whispered comforts would reach her. Harris leaned against the stone wall, Olivia's revolver still dangling from his fingers. "We can't keep her here. The board arrives in six hours." "Then we move her." I wiped clone blood from my cheek. The scent—*Anna but wrong, sterile like alcohol and cold metal*—clung to my skin. Luna tugged my sle

Anna's POV The world came back in shattered pieces. First the scent—blood and wolfsbane, thick as syrup in my throat. Then the pain, radiating from my shoulder in waves that made my bones vibrate. Finally, the voices, warped as though heard through water. *"...serum wasn't pure enough..."* *"...can't stop it now..."* *"...she'll die if we don't..."* I forced my eyes open. The study swam into focus through a haze of amber—colors too bright, shadows pulsing with unnatural life. My hands flexed against the chaise lounge, and I recoiled. My fingernails had darkened to obsidian, tapered into cruel points. Black veins spiderwebbed beneath my skin. "Anna." Jackson's face appeared above me, his features sharpened in my new vision. The stubble along his jaw caught the firelight in impossible detail, each hair distinct. His pupils were blown wide, irises glowing gold like my fevered blood. I tried to speak. What came out was a growl. Something small and warm touched my clawed hand. "