I ran.

Didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. Just moved.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering in staccato flashes—on, off, on—like someone hadn’t paid the electric bill on reality. The hallway warped as I tore through it, lines bending in ways they shouldn’t. Corners jittered like pixels lagging on a dying screen.

Too narrow. Too long.

Wrong.

Static hissed at the edges of my vision. Real static. White noise and flicker, like a corrupted overlay from an old VR headset bleeding into the real world. Every blink just made it worse—black lines slicing through light, swallowing the walls, replacing doors with noise.

Exit signs blinked past like a glitch reel—3B. 3D. 3A.

Pick a corridor, any corridor. They were all broken.

But my feet kept going. Because somewhere in this mess of corrupted textures and melting light, I remembered—there was something. A file. A fragment. Something too big, too dangerous.

What was it?

The second I reached for the thought, it burned white-hot and vanished—devoured by that same fizzing static.

Like someone didn’t want me remembering.

Like they’d built a firewall in my own head.

I snarled through clenched teeth, trying to push past it. The hallway snapped back into shape—or close enough. Marble floors gave way to poured concrete. The sleek glass became reinforced steel. Lights sharpened into sterile white bars. Brighter. Harsher. Less human.

Dad’s lab.

My boots skidded as I hit the scanner. Slapped a palm against the panel. It didn’t wait. No authentication. No warning.

The doors hissed open like they’d been waiting for me.

And there he was.

Slumped.

Desk bathed in cold white. His body folded forward, one shoulder higher than the other. Head tilted. Face turned just enough to catch the edge of the light.

One hand still clutched a stylus, fingers limp. The other hung off the desk, knuckles stained red where they brushed the floor.

“Dad?” My voice cracked like a fault line. “Dad—”

I stumbled to him. Knees hit the floor too hard. One hand gripped his shoulder. Shook him gently—then harder.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Something slick smeared under my palm.

Warm.

Sticky.

Red.

I looked down.

Blood. Thick. Tacky. Spread across my fingers like paint someone had taken their time with. It clung to the skin, curled beneath my nails.

No. No, no—

“Dad?” My voice broke again. I grabbed his arm. Pulled. Too heavy. Too limp.

He slumped sideways—dead weight.

BOOM.

The door behind me didn’t open—it detonated.

A shockwave punched through the lab, rattling glass, shaking the overhead fixtures. Dust rained down like static. The lights flickered once, then stabilised in a cold, surgical glare.

Then came the boots.

Thundering. Dozens of them. Metal slamming concrete. Shouts cutting through the haze like blades.

I turned. Slow. Hands raised. Red-streaked. Still trembling from where they’d touched my father’s blood.

They swarmed in.

Armour-black, faces sealed behind mirrored visors. Gas masks. Tactical gear with corporate insignias stamped in hard silver. Some bore riot shields. Others—shock pikes and compact rail stun rifles locked and humming with energy.

Not guards.

Not private security.

VirtuNet police.

“Hands where I can see them!” one shouted, voice muffled but sharp. His rifle didn’t waver. “Now!”

“I—wait—” I raised my palms. A stupid, helpless gesture. Blood glistened under the lights. “It’s not—I didn’t—”

They didn’t care.

A stun bolt cracked across the air and slammed into my ribs.

Agony detonated under my skin. My back arched. I gasped—couldn’t even scream right.

Another blast caught me in the hip. My legs collapsed. I hit the ground hard. Elbows scraped tile. Blood in my mouth. Pain screamed down my spine like someone had rewired my nerves with live wire.

I was still trying to breathe when the prod came down.

A jolt hit my side—then another. My body spasmed, helpless. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even crawl.

“Rein Ashlin,” someone began, voice like a court sentence.

Cold.

Official.

“You are under arrest for the crimes of first-degree murder, unauthorised data breach, and treason against VirtuNet corporate governance.”

My throat scraped dry.

“I didn’t—” I croaked. “I found him like this—he was already—please—”

Another crack of voltage to the neck.

The words died in my mouth. My vision whited out.

Hands shoved me down. My cheek hit tile. My wrists were yanked behind me, clamped tight. Steel cuffs bit into skin. A collar—metallic, too snug—snapped into place around my throat. I could feel my pulse hammering against it. Too fast. Too loud.

“I didn’t do this,” I whispered. “Please.”

No one answered.

Then the air shifted.

And he stepped in.

Not one of them.

He didn’t move like the others. No urgency. No orders barked through static. Just a slow, deliberate pace—like he was taking in the scene the way a painter admires a still life.

Suit black as a funeral. Gloves to match. Not tactical—tailored. Like he’d dressed for my ruin.

But it was the face that caught me.

Or the lack of one.

His head shimmered in static. Like someone had censored him from reality. A constant flicker of distortion—pixels blooming, breaking apart, then reassembling in wrong shapes. Like a face on a corrupted feed. My eyes strained, tried to focus. Failed.

Whatever he was—it wasn’t letting me see him.

He crouched beside me. The heat of him leeched into the air.

I turned my face away, teeth locked, body rigid.

He leaned in.

His voice was low. Measured.

A knife disguised as kindness.

“How does it feel,” he murmured, “to kill your father?”

Everything in me stilled.

I felt his smile before I heard it.

Rotten.

Satisfied.

“And your sister,” he added, too casual. Like he was commenting on the weather.

My lungs froze. My heart forgot its rhythm.

“She’s dead too,” he said. “Didn’t they tell you? No?” A soft chuckle. “Tsk.”

The room seemed to tilt.

“No,” I rasped. “No—she was—”

He leaned closer. Breath grazed my ear like a threat.

“It’s a shame, really,” he whispered. “But some little birds shouldn’t snoop where they’re not wanted.”

My fists clenched against the cuffs. Metal dug in deep. Warm blood slicked my palms.

“You’ll never get to reveal what you found,” he said, tone dipping into something colder. “I’ll make sure of it. I’ll make sure you get the death you deserve.”

And then—

The world shook.

Not metaphorically. No neat metaphors here.

The floor beneath me lurched like it had a heartbeat—metal screaming as the lab came apart at the seams, like someone was peeling back the walls with a scalpel. The ceiling bent. The air cracked. The lights exploded into shards of static.

My scream caught behind my teeth.

And then it shattered.

The lab. The blood. The world.

Everything went white.

I woke choking.

Breath ragged, limbs thrashing, the sheets soaked and twisted around me like a snare. Sweat slicked every inch of skin—clammy, cold. My ribs ached like memory still had claws. The bed beneath me was too soft, the air too warm, the shadows too quiet.

But the blood? That was gone.

Only the ghost of it stuck to my palms.

Then—

Movement.

A shadow bent over me.

Reflex hit before reason.

I surged up, hand snapping beneath the pillow. Cold steel kissed my fingers, and in a breath I was on top of them, knees pinning arms, dagger pressed against a throat that hadn’t earned it.

A gasp.

A tremble.

The girl beneath me didn’t fight. Didn’t scream.

She just blinked up at me, wide-eyed and still—like a rabbit caught in the jaws, too afraid to bolt.

Red welled at the blade’s edge. One bead. A warning.

Seren.

Shit.

She looked even smaller now—flattened against silk sheets, chest heaving, her night apron creased and damp where steam had clung to her skin. Hair mussed from sleep or panic. Eyes glossy with fear but clear enough to clock every inch of me.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

I just stared.

“What the fuck,” I growled, low and cold, “are you doing in my room?”

Her lips parted like the air had turned too thick to breathe. “I—I was only here to wake you, my Lady,” she choked out. “I swear—I didn’t mean to—”

“Is that all?” The dagger twitched a fraction closer. Not enough to cut deeper. Just enough to make sure she felt it.

She nodded frantically, voice barely more than breath. “Yes, my Lady. Just that. I swear it.”

And still—I hovered.

Pinned her there with my body and my eyes and every vicious thing in me that wasn’t ready to stop shaking.

Then—softly, quietly—she asked:

“…Are you alright?”

That stopped me.

“What?”

Seren blinked. Her voice was glass. “You were… crying.”

I blinked.

That can’t be right.

“You were crying,” she repeated. “In your sleep.”

A long pause.

The kind of silence that bruises.

I exhaled sharply through my nose, pulled the dagger back, and stood. The muscles in my thighs quivered with restraint. My hand wiped across my face—more reflex than thought. The moisture under my eye smeared, left a faint line on my skin.

Just sweat, I told myself.

Just sweat.

I tossed the dagger onto the vanity. It clattered once—sharp, final—and I didn’t look back.

My legs carried me there instead.

The mirror caught my reflection.

Tangled hair. Split lip. Pale skin stretched too tight. My pulse still ghosted beneath the surface like something hunting for a way out.

But no tears. Not now. Not me.

“Forget that,” I muttered. Voice flat as the blade I’d nearly buried in her neck. “Forget everything. Get out.”

Behind me, Seren pushed herself upright. Slow. Careful.

“I still need to prepare you for the—”

“I don’t need help.” I didn’t turn. Just stared myself down, like I could drill the weakness out of my skull by sheer force of will. “Leave.”

A pause.

Then quiet footsteps.

A soft scrape of shoes on polished marble.

A bow I didn’t see but felt in the air.

And the door clicked shut.

Silence.

I let it hang there.

One breath. Two. I reached for the vanity edge and gripped it hard enough to leave dents.

My knuckles blanched. My eyes stayed on the glass.

Not at the reflection.

Through it.

To the moment that had broken me.

Dad’s lab. His desk. His blood.

And…

My mind stuttered.

That’s where it always stopped.

Whatever I’d found—whatever had dragged me back to the lab, whatever had gotten him killed—it wasn’t there anymore. Not in my mind. Not in my memory.

Gone.

Static filled the gaps like digital scar tissue.

Scrubbed. Erased. Hollowed out with surgical precision.

I ground my teeth. My nails bit into the wood.

They took it.

I didn’t know how. I didn’t know when. But they took it.

And now?

Now I was going to rip it back.

I leaned in close. My breath ghosted the glass.

“I don’t care what you wiped,” I whispered. “I don’t care what you think I’ll forget.”

A smile curled at the corner of my mouth. Sharp. Cold.

“I’ll find it. And when I do…”

My eyes narrowed.

“…I’ll make sure you choke on it.”

The mirror didn’t reply.

But the girl staring back?

She looked like she meant it.