Chapter 55

Chapter 55: The Awakening Protocol

The sky was grey and heavy, compressing the air with a tangible tension that was almost. alive.

Two hours passed as if in slow motion, like the stretched-out pulse of a heartbeat. Isla waited among the close quarters in the stealth vessel Ethan had adapted—a retro-fitted airskimmer for stealth more than speed. She watched as the final adjustments were made: fuel levels even, signal shields engaged, weaponry calibrated. Every beep and flash on the dashboard sounded like a warning.

She did not fear the journey. She feared what was at the end of it.

Ethan hunched over the primary console behind her, fingers flicking over keys. His face was a calm mask, but his shoulders were stiff and unnatural.

"You sure about this course?" she asked quietly.

He nodded without looking at her. “ECHO-3 isn’t marked on any standard map. But if Victor’s intel holds, it’s somewhere off-grid near the Siberian perimeter. Cold, broken, buried in snow.”

“And you’re not worried it’s a trap?”

“I’m always worried it’s a trap,” Ethan said flatly. “But it’s also the only place broadcasting that frequency. The same one that activated the neural spike in your scan.”

That rush. That beat. Isla still remembered how it had been—like a crawling sensation at the back of her eyes, drawing long-forgotten memories from a life that wasn't hers to begin with. Lyra's voice had navigated it. Not in words, but codes. Commands.

She shivered.

The bay doors screeched open. Christopher entered, gun and armor. His eyes locked onto hers from the first.

"Good to you?" he said.

She nodded.

He didn't trust her, but he didn't press. He gave her a neural patch instead—a thin strip of artificial interface designed to control mind-body sync during deep cognitive change.

"You may need this if it hits again," he explained. "It could help keep… her… from taking the reins."

She took it wordlessly, sliding it into the wrist compartment of her jacket.

Ethan keyed a last order into the console, and the airskimmer ascended through the fog. The power thrummed through the cramped room, little more than a breath.

Nothing was said for an hour. They all retreated inward.

Isla stared at the screens. Outside the windows, the world was a blur of cloud and ice. But within her—a spark awakened.

Don't forget me.

The voice echoed once more, not from memory but from the present. As though Lyra was inside the ship. Inside her. Watching.

She sprang to her feet, her hands on the cold metal wall for balance.

"Isla?" Christopher moved instantly.

She did not answer. Her chest heaved once, twice.

"I think it's happening again," she whispered. "I can sense her. pushing."

Christopher worked fast, sticking the neural patch against the side of her neck. It vibrated quietly, adjusting to her vital functions. Isla's body stiffened, then collapsed forward into his arms.

"Heart rate's stabilizing," Ethan said, scanning the monitors. "But brainwave activity's going crazy—she's inducing."

Inside Isla's head, reality bent.

She was no longer on the skimmer. She was standing in a corridor—that corridor. White walls. Distant blue lights. And footsteps.

Her own.

But. not.

She looked down. Her hands weren't hers. They were gloved, shaking. She had on a suit—medical, or tactical, she hadn't a clue. But something wet dripped from the sleeve.

Protocol took over, a cold voice speaking in her ear. Subject 13: Lyra-Alpha. Override initiated.

A child's scream came from near. A child's scream.

Isla ran.

Down the corridor. Beyond locked rooms. Beyond broken glass. Beyond cages.

She stopped in front of one door, thumping heart.

Inside, a girl—maybe five years old—sat in a corner, shivering. Her eyes pulsed weakly.

The door proclaimed: SUBJECT ECHO: Designation Isla.

"No…" Isla panted. "This… this is not a memory."

It's a beginning, Lyra's voice seemed to say. And beginnings always cost blood.

The vision faded.

She sank into Christopher's arms again, gasping.

"I saw her," she croaked. "I saw me. As a child. In one of the laboratories. They held me. Monitored me. Trained me."

"Anything else?" Christopher asked, voice tightly constricted.

"There were others. I wasn't alone." Her voice broke. \"I think ECHO-3 isn't a location. I think it's where they kept the others. The ones like me."

Ethan's voice cut in, sharp. "Guys, we have a problem."

They stared at the main screen.

A red light pulsed wildly.

"Proximity alert. Someone's on our tail. It's dark-running—no ID, no transponder."

Christopher shouldered his rifle. "Could be a scout drone. Or worse."

Ethan's eyes tightened. "Or another recovered subject."

The skimmer trembled.

Something was close by. Hunting.

Isla stood trembling on shaky legs, her face pale but set. "Let it come."

"What?" Christopher blinked.

“If they’re watching… if they know we’re coming, then they’ve already activated the protocol. We’re not just chasing ghosts anymore.” Her jaw tightened. “We’re walking into war.”

Outside, the skies shifted—black against black.

And behind them, a shadow followed.

Watching.

Waiting.

Remembering her name.