The ruins of Echo’s heart spread around them like the skeletal remains of a dead cathedral. Walls of black glass jutted upward like the ribs of some long-buried beast, cracked and glittering in the broken light of storm clouds overhead. The air reeked of ozone and scorched metal, the silence beneath it broken only by the slow groan of fallen beams, the faint hiss of dying wires sparking in the dust.Savannah stood among the rubble, her breath shallow as she looked at the chamber where it had all begun—the place where she had been broken down, rewritten, rebuilt, and enslaved. The very nerve-center of Echo, its mainframe thrumming still with ghostly aftershocks of the shutdown.And there, across the fractured floor, came Savara.Not Savannah—not the trembling, grieving woman who had chosen love in the shadows of death—but the other. The one who had awakened when the shutdown tore the programming loose. She glowed faintly, her movements too precise, her face too composed, as though she
The room had been remade in silence. Not by furniture shifted, nor by walls cracked, but by the mere presence of her—this woman, this figure who was once Savannah, yet bore herself as something newly born. The laboratory lights above shimmered faintly, as if the power grid itself hesitated to confirm her existence.She stood barefoot upon the marble floor, hair falling in a heavy curtain of sable, eyes bright with the unearthly calm of someone who no longer remembered fear. Every step she took seemed measured, ritualistic, as though dictated by an inner rhythm only she could hear.“I am Savara,” she whispered, her voice smooth as glass, free of tremor, free of doubt. The name tasted like an incantation. “Not Savannah. Not vessel. Not program. Savara—the truest form.”The others in the room could only stare. Rhett swallowed audibly. Julian’s brows furrowed, though calculation already gleamed in his gaze. Colton alone spoke, his voice rough with disbelief, with the ache of a man watchin
The silence that followed was not peace. It was the silence of aftermath, where something vital had been extinguished but left a shadow behind. Savannah sat propped against the pillows in the sterile white room, her body weak, her pulse still irregular, her skin pallid with the sheen of fever. The machine beside her bed ticked with a pulse she no longer trusted—every beat now an alien echo of itself.Rhett stood at the foot of the bed, his usual irreverence erased, his face carved into lines of sorrow and reluctant knowledge. His voice trembled, though he tried to make it steady.“The shutdown worked,” he said softly, as if speaking too loudly might undo the fragile state she was in. “E0’s override signal—the core programming—was purged. You’re free of her commands.”Savannah blinked, her throat dry, her mind floating between lucidity and something fractured. “Then why… why does everything feel hollow?”Rhett exhaled sharply, as though the words themselves tasted like iron. “Because t
The hallway seemed to breathe with her. Not just echoing her footsteps, but matching the slow pull and push of her lungs, as though the walls themselves were inhaling and exhaling in perfect unison.Each breath left her lips as a faint ghost of sound, carried along the corridor in a strange, deliberate way—like the building was passing her own air back to her, subtly altered.Her palm slid along the wall. It was cold, gritty in patches, and the plaster crumbled faintly under her fingertips like dried bone dust. She didn’t trust the light above. It wasn’t light so much as the pale absence of dark—thin, cloudy, the color of watered milk. The tubes gave off a faint buzzing, the kind that worms into the back of the skull until you can’t tell if you’re hearing it or thinking it.She had walked this passage before—hadn’t she? She tried to anchor herself in the peeling paint, in the tarnished brass handles that protruded from the occasional door, but each seemed to shift when she wasn’t look
The lab no longer felt like a lab.It had been stripped of its sterile chill, its medical precision replaced by something more ancient, more ceremonial. Someone—Savannah never asked who—had dimmed the overhead fluorescents until the room was bathed in a low red-gold, the color of banked embers. It made the walls tremble with slow-moving shadows, as though the place itself were breathing.The cables that fed the shutdown rig curled across the floor like veins drawn toward a mechanical heart. At the center, on a dais of brushed steel, the apparatus sat waiting—sleek, cold, merciless. It looked less like a machine and more like an altar to an old god no one dared speak of.Savannah sat beneath that soft, glowing gloom, her back impossibly straight, hands resting in her lap. Her fingers were laced so tightly that the knuckles had gone white, bone pressing through skin as if trying to escape. She didn’t shiver. She didn’t blink. The stillness around her was the stillness of someone who had
The light in the control chamber wasn’t light at all—it was a diluted, trembling silver, the kind that felt like it had traveled a thousand years through cold space just to find them. It touched nothing warmly. The walls wore it like frost. Even Savannah’s skin seemed to repel it, leaving her face half-shadowed, her hands pale and still in her lap as if they had been carved from the same steel that lined the floor.Julian stood across from her, his profile half-consumed by darkness, the blade-edge of his jaw catching only the faintest scraps of illumination. The effect made him look not entirely real—less a man than a negative space the light refused to inhabit.“You need to understand something,” he said. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried, a low frequency that seemed to vibrate inside the bones of the room. “This was never about choice. Not yours. Not Colton’s. Not mine.”Savannah’s lips parted, but the words stayed buried somewhere between her lungs and her teeth. The events of