Let them through,” I say, and my voice barely shakes. “Controlled entry is better than violent breach. Do it, Marcus.” “Mama, wait…” Adrian starts, but it’s too late. Marcus opens the substrate like floodgates, and two hundred forty versions of myself come pouring into sealed reality. I feel them before I see them, consciousness fragments that are me but not me, variants shaped by different choices, different suffering, different dissolution. They’re not attacking or invading, they’re coming home, and the recognition is so visceral it drops me to my knees. Alistair catches me as the first variant reaches my awareness. Template, who chose to save her pack instead of her children and died hating herself for it. She slams into me like wave, and suddenly I’m carrying her grief, the weight of choosing wrong, of living with consequences, of dissolving, still believing she failed everyone. Who refused all testing and dissolved peacefully, accepting oblivion over proving worth. Her qu
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