LOGINWhen I walk back into the apartment, Evan is standing in the kitchen shirtless, leaning against the counter with a mug of coffee.
Sunlight spills through the window, catching on his skin, making him look like the man I used to love. It would have made me weak once.
Now, all I see is a liar wrapped in soft morning light.
“You disappeared,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “I thought we were having breakfast.” I close the door behind me and hang my sweater on the hook. My voice is steady when I say, “I needed some air.”
His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s looking for cracks in my words.
“You’re acting weird.” Weird? Yeah, dying and waking up ten years in the past will do that to you.
I force a small laugh. “Sorry. Bad dream. I needed to clear my head.”
He studies me for a few seconds before nodding, pretending he’s buying it. His thoughts slide into my head like someone’s whispering in my ear. She’s moody today. Must be that time of the month.
I’ll just charm her later. I smile so hard my cheeks hurt. If only he knew the storm brewing inside me. I step closer, pretending nothing’s wrong, pretending I’m still the girl who trusted him. That girl was easy to control. This one isn’t.
I brush my fingers over his arm as I pass him. “Coffee smells good.”
He grins, smug. “I know. I make the best coffee.” I want to punch that grin right off his face. Instead, I open the fridge.
“Are you working late tonight?”
He shrugs. “Probably. Big meeting tomorrow. You know how it is.
I know exactly how it is. He’s probably already flirting with his coworker at this point in the timeline. Back then, I pretended not to notice. This time, I’ll notice everything.
I grab an apple from the fridge. He watches me, leaning back like he owns the room. Technically, back then, he did.
I paid half the bills, but he always acted like it was his apartment. He loved control. Loved power. I used to let him have it. Not anymore.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
“I’m just tired,” I answer, biting into the apple. His thoughts hum through my mind again. She’ll be fine later. I’ll take her out tomorrow.
She loves that little diner. Cheap date, easy points. I almost choke on the apple. Cheap date, easy points.
I used to think those dates were special. I used to think he looked at me like I was his world. All the while, he was keeping score like love was a game.
I look up at him with a sweet smile.
“I’d like that.”
His smile widens. Of course you would. I’m going to enjoy destroying you, Evan.
Later that afternoon, Lena calls. Hearing her voice nearly breaks me. She sounds so young. So full of life. Back then, she was my closest friend.
The only one who ever questioned if Evan was really as perfect as I claimed.
“Are we still on for lunch?” she asks through the phone.
“Yeah,” I say softly. “I’ll meet you at the usual spot.”
“The usual spot” is a small café downtown. The same one where she once warned me not to give.
Evan everything. I ignored her. Now, I want to hug her.
The café looks exactly like I remember. Worn-out wooden tables, the smell of burnt coffee beans, and the constant hum of people trying to sound interesting.
Lena is already at a corner table, waving when she sees me. Her hair is shorter, and her face is brighter.
She hasn’t gone through the storm yet. Not like me.
“Hey, stranger,” she says when I sitdown. “You look… different.”
I laugh. “Different good or different bad?”
“Different like you’ve seen somethings,” she says, narrowing her eyes.
“What happened?”
How do I tell her that I died last night and woke up ten years earlier with a power I can’t fully control? I stir my iced coffee instead. “Just a bad dream.”
She gives me a look. “A dream?”
“Yeah. One of those real ones.” She leans forward. “Let me guess. Evan died and you inherited all his money?”
I grin despite myself. “Close.” She laughs, then her smile fades a little. “Seriously, though. I’ve always thought he was too smooth.” I raise an eyebrow. “Too smooth?”
She lowers her voice. “You know. Charming. Too charming. Like a salesman. I keep waiting for the part where he tries to sell me a timeshare.”
Her thoughts slide into my head before she finishes the sentence. He’s hot, but he gives me weird vibes. I hope she never gets hurt.
My throat tightens. If only she knew what would happen years from now. If only she knew how right she was.
“Lena,” I say quietly, “thank you.”
“For what?”
“For always being honest.”
She blinks, surprised. “That’s new. Usually you get defensive.” Yeah. I used to defend him like a fool. I sigh. “Maybe I should have listened more.”
She leans back. “Uh-oh. Did you guys fight?”
I shake my head. “No. Not yet.” “Not yet?” she repeats, raising an eyebrow. I shrug. “Just a feeling.” She studies me for a moment.
“You’re weird today. But like… a good weird.”
I smile. “Thanks, I guess.” We talk for another hour. It’s normal and warm, and for a second, I let myself forget the blood, the knife, the way Evan’s eyes looked as I bled out. I just laugh with my best friend.
I missed this.
But the world has a way of reminding me what’s real. As I’m walking home, I hear it again.
That voice.
A sharp whisper right next to my ear, too soft for anyone else to hear.
He’s already planning his first lie. I freeze on the sidewalk. People pass me without a glance. The whisper fades, but my heart won’t slow down.
Evan’s sitting on the couch when I get home, scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t even look up when I step in.
“Hey,” he says. “Where’d you go?”
“Lunch with Lena,” I answer.
He gives a short nod. His thoughts slide into my head again. I should text Sarah later. She always replies fast. It’s easy with her.
Sarah. The name twists in my chest. I remember that name. I’d found texts on his phone two years after this point. He said it was nothing. I believed him. Stupid.
I keep my face calm. “I was thinking we could go out tomorrow night.”
He finally looks at me, surprised.
“Really?”
I nod. “Yeah. Just us.”
His smile spreads slowly. She’s finally acting normal.
“Sure,” he says. “We’ll go wherever you want.”
“Great.”
I walk into the bedroom before he can say anything else. I need a second to breathe. To plan.
He thinks he’s already won. He thinks I’m the same Aria who will swallow every excuse, forgive every sin, and look the other way because I love him. But I’m not her anymore.
This time, I’ll let him think I’m soft.
I’ll let him underestimate me. And when he falls, it’ll be hard and loud.
That night, I lie in bed beside him.
He’s asleep, breathing softly. I stare at the ceiling, replaying every thought I’d heard today. Every lie he hasn’t even told me yet. Every betrayal that’s still waiting in the shadows.
I close my eyes and focus on the noise in my head. It’s getting easier to control now, like tuning a radio.
I can focus on one person at a time. Block out the rest. The only thing I can’t control is the silence I felt earlier today.
That man in the park. I turn onto my side, away from Evan.
I can still see the man’s face in my mind. Sharp jaw. Black suit. A quiet that didn’t feel like absence but power. Everyone else is an open book. He’s a locked safe.
Why him?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it quickly so Evan doesn’t stir. An unknown number flashes on the screen. One new message.
Nice day for a second chance, isn’t it?
My breath catches.
Another buzz. Second message.
Enjoy the game, Aria. It’s just getting started.
I stare at the glowing screen, my hands cold. I don’t know this number. I don’t know this person. But someone out there knows exactly what happened to me.
I glance at Evan. He’s still asleep. Peaceful. Unaware. I type a quick reply.
Who are you? Three dots appear instantly, like they’ve been waiting.
You’ll find out soon. Don’t die too early this time.
I drop the phone. My pulse races in my throat. This isn’t just some random miracle. Someone’s behind this. Someone who’s watching me.
The air in the room suddenly feels heavier. I reach for the curtain and peek outside. The street is quiet.The lamplight spills over the pavement.
And right across the street, leaning against a lamppost like he’s been there all night, is the man in the black suit.
He looks up. Our eyes lock.
The silence around him presses against me like a hand on my chest.
Then, slowly, he lifts his phone to his ear.
Mine buzzes again.
Run.
"Three days. Barely enough time to prepare but they're moving fast because of the accelerated timeline intelligence." The news hit like physical impact. Three days until Damian deployed to Europe, leaving me and Elara home while he walked into Geneva's complex. First major separation since our reconciliation years ago. "This changes the infiltration plan," I said, trying to think tactically rather than emotionally. "If you're going officially as Guardian consultant, you can't participate in covert documentation operation. You'll be under surveillance, your movements monitored." "I won't be infiltrating," Damian confirmed. "I'll be providing legitimate oversight consultation while gathering intelligence that supports the actual infiltration team. Different role but complementary to the mission." "So you're bait. Official Guardian presence that distracts Geneva's attention while the real operation happens covertly." "Partially. But also legitimate intelligence gathering. Guar
"Promise." She seemed satisfied for the moment but that night I heard her crying softly in her room, processing emotions about Damian's deployment that she hadn't wanted to express directly. I sat with her in the darkness. "Daddy will come back. This is temporary." "I know but I can feel how dangerous it is. The place he's going, it's full of people who hurt children by trying to help them. What if they hurt him?" "Guardian training means he can protect himself and he's not going to do anything risky. Just observation and intelligence gathering." "Everything about Geneva is risky. Even the observation part. Because they don't want to be observed honestly. They'll try to show him fake things while hiding real things. And if he sees too much real stuff, they might not let him leave." Her perception was uncomfortably accurate. Geneva wouldn't permit thorough observation of controversial research. Damian would be navigating between official access and operational securit
By evening I was exhausted and more uncertain than ever about my qualifications. Everyone else seemed confident in their capabilities. I felt like an academic pretending to be operative. Damian found me reviewing Geneva facility layouts, trying to memorize routes and identify potential psychological assessment opportunities. "You're spiraling," he observed. "I'm preparing inadequately for situations that exceeds my expertise." "You're overthinking because you're scared. That's normal before dangerous operation but it doesn't mean you're actually inadequate." "Everyone else has supernatural abilities or tactical training. I have theoretical knowledge about psychological development that might not apply to consciousness network manipulation." "Everyone else also has blind spots you don't have. Enhanced individuals perceive consciousness but sometimes miss behavioral indicators. Tactical operatives focus on security but overlook psychological impacts. You see what they miss beca
"You're overthinking it," Damian said, finding me at two a.m. surrounded by papers and incomprehension."I'm underprepared for it," I corrected. "Everyone else on the infiltration team has consciousness abilities. Enhanced perception that lets them sense threats I'll miss. I'm going to be a liability rather than an asset.""You're going to be the only person who understands what we're seeing from a psychological perspective. Consciousness specialists will document technical capabilities. You'll document human impact.""If I can even understand what I'm seeing. These protocols describe consciousness manipulation at levels I can't perceive anymore. How do I assess psychological harm from processes I can't directly observe?""The same way you've been doing it for two years. Through behavioral analysis, emotional assessment, therapeutic expertise. You don't need to perceive consciousness directly to identify when people are being damaged psychologically."He was right theoretically. Bu
The argument was compelling despite my resistance. I did know Elara's psychological development intimately. Her attachment patterns, her emotional regulation strategies, her responses to stress. A clone might replicate behaviors but would struggle to replicate the underlying psychological architecture that generated those behaviors. "I'll do the assessment," I agreed. "But I need complete access to all verification data. Consciousness scans, biometric readings, behavioral analysis, everything. I can't work with partial information." Guardian specialists began comprehensive testing while I reviewed Elara's developmental history. Medical records, therapeutic notes, school assessments, every documented interaction that revealed her psychological patterns. Elara submitted to testing with remarkable patience for a five year old. Consciousness mapping, memory verification questions, emotional response tasks. She sensed my terror but didn't ask about it directly. Just held my hand bet
"I sent preliminary analysis," she said. "But there's something else. Something I couldn't put in a written document because it's too sensitive. Can we talk privately?" I put her on speaker with just Damian and Marcus present. "Go ahead." "Geneva isn't working alone on consciousness evolution project. They're coordinating with other facilities globally. Shanghai, Mumbai, Sydney, São Paulo. All conducting synchronized research toward same evolutionary objectives. Together they're creating distributed consciousness manipulation network that can't be stopped by eliminating any single facility." "How many facilities total?" I asked. "At least twelve major sites. Probably more smaller operations. All sharing research, all implementing Geneva's methodologies, all contributing to systematic consciousness cultivation on global scale." "That's the real scope," I realized. "Not just Geneva. Not just Chrysalis. Entire international network directing human consciousness evolution through







