The 100 Echoes Novels & Stories

As usual, it was a call from Natalie. Julian met my gaze as he parted his lips to explain. "There's no need to explain. I know you're busy with work," I cut him off before he could speak. However, my thoughtfulness seemed to have unsettled him even more. Desperate to figure out what came over me, his grip on my hand tightened. His ringtone grew even more insistent. Julian finally loosened his hold on me under my steady gaze. "I'll show up on our 100th proposal," he promised before hurrying away.

“That’s… my number.” Ash nodded grimly. “Echo units are created from genetic echoes. Fragments of a subject’s bloodline, compressed and accelerated. They’re not clones. They’re living prophecies.” Liam growled. “So she’s some kind of test?” “No,” Grey said darkly. “She’s a warning.” The little girl was staring at Mira now, like a puzzle piece searching for its missing match. “I woke up when the moon turned red,” she said. “And I heard your scream. You were hurting.”

Raw data flooded the screen: timestamps, audio spectrums, encrypted surveillance. Slipping on noise-canceling headphones, she played the first audio file. Static. Then, her mother’s distorted but unmistakable voice: “If anyone hears this... remember me. I am not a shadow. I am not your project.” Isabella froze, hands trembling. The clip was layered, her mother’s voice beneath subliminal commands: “You will forget. You will comply. You are safe. You are nothing.” This was the Echo Protocol, raw, violent, stripped of pretense—mental warfare, not therapy.

Or maybe just… done. “I’m leaving,” Echo said. “Where?” Emilio asked. “East. There’s a monastery in Bhutan. Off-grid. Quiet. They take in people who shouldn’t have survived.” “You’re not running?” Emilio asked. Echo shook his head. “No. Just choosing not to be followed.” A silence passed. “I saw you,” Emilio said. “In the code. When it broke. You… helped.” “I was always your firewall. Not your leash.” Emilio leaned forward, voice quiet now.

" With that, Carter steadied Jodie by the waist and walked toward the door. Staring down at the mess scattered across the floor, I called out for the housekeeper, Hilda Lukasiak. The mansion, however, stood in eerie silence. With a sigh, I carefully picked up the shattered porcelain bowl and tossed the pieces into a nearby trash bin. Just then, a flash of lightning split the night, followed by a thunderclap that rattled the walls. Startled, I collapsed to the floor. In my panic, I tried to get to my feet, but my hand struck the jagged porcelain, leaving deep cuts along my palm. Taking a moment to steady my breath, I scrambled for my phone and called the family doctor, Frank O'Connor.

I used to think strength meant standing tall no matter what, but now I know it’s about learning to stand again after you’ve fallen, even when you don’t want to. People see you smile and assume you’ve healed. They don’t see the weight you carry in silence — the ghosts you tuck behind every laugh, the memories that never fade no matter how many years pass. Twenty-six years since the night that stole everything from me, and I can still hear it sometimes — the shattering glass, the screams, the gunshots. I can still smell the gunpowder in the air.There are things you don’t ever forget. You just learn to live around them.

She was curled on the ground, consciousness too fragmented to stand, desperately trying to integrate with collective that couldn't accept her damage. Damian knelt beside her, and I heard him speaking through his audio feed: "Hey. I know you. You're Elara's other self. The one who escaped Geneva before. You can escape again. Come with me. Let me help you." E-2's voice was barely coherent: "Can't escape. Need to connect. Need to be part of collective. Alone is... alone is breaking me. Everything is fragments without connection."

This was something that would definitely growl back at us. “Explain,” Damon ordered, waiting for a response. Marcus stepped fully onto the balcony, keeping his voice down so the pack below wouldn’t catch every word. “They’re not physical at first. The old texts the elders dug up say the Echoes are... leftovers. Pieces of the very first gods that shattered during some ancient war no one remembers. When the Convergence cracked reality, it woke them. They don’t attack with claws or fangs. They attack with memory. Doubt. They make you question everything you believe, your mate, your pack, and even your own strength.”

Chapter 1: Fractured Homecoming Elias Kane stepped through the front door just after midnight, duffel bag thudding softly against the frame. The house felt too still. “Mara?” he called quietly but no answer. He moved into the kitchen, flipping on the light. His eyes landed on the steel watch sitting on the counter. A man's watch that's clearly not his own. “What the hell…” A car door slammed outside. Elias flinched hard, back hitting the wall as memories surged—explosions, shouting, dust choking his lungs. “Not now,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Breathe, damn it.”