Night was the only time the mansion seemed to breathe.
The guards' footsteps softened to distant echoes, the surveillance drones hummed a steady rhythm, and the sea beyond the cliff whispered against the rocks like a lullaby meant for no one.
Vinny waited until that rhythm settled before moving.
The chain still circled his ankle, but Matthew had underestimated how curious he could be. A small pin from a cufflink—something he'd "borrowed" from the dressing table—worked well enough to loosen the outer lock on the shackle. He didn't take it off completely; that would be obvious. He only gave it enough slack to cross the room and reach the door when the hallway sensors dimmed.
He had one goal: find out what Matthew wasn't telling him.
If he keeps you ignorant, he keeps you obedient.
The memory of that thought echoed in his skull as he slipped into the hallway.
The corridor stretched in perfect symmetry: portraits of dead men staring from gilded frames, security lights tracing sterile lines across marble floors. Vinny moved barefoot, counting steps between cameras. He'd watched their rotation for days—long enough to know there was a blind spot near the east wing stairwell.
That stairwell led down.
And below, behind coded doors, was the laboratory.
The keypad blinked red when he reached it. He pressed his palm against the scanner—no use.
He leaned closer; faint fingerprints smudged across the side of the console told him someone used it recently. Matthew's men. Maybe even Matthew himself.
He took a breath, then glanced at the access panel below the scanner. A tiny seam in the casing. He pulled another pin from his sleeve, pried gently, and the cover came loose with a whisper of metal. Inside, circuits glowed faintly blue.
He'd seen Matthew enter a six-digit code once, months ago—half hidden behind his shoulder. But memory was a strange weapon; it kept the rhythm of numbers even when the digits blurred.
Vinny closed his eyes.
Two beeps. Pause. Three fast. One long press.
He mimicked it.
The lock clicked open.
He almost laughed. "Paranoid genius, meet curious idiot," he muttered under his breath, stepping inside.
The laboratory was colder than he remembered.
Sterile light fell across rows of sealed tanks, machines humming quietly like they were asleep. In the far corner, where the large cylinder once pulsed with faint blue liquid, there was only emptiness. The table where Matthew had tried to restart his mother's vitals still bore streaks of dried saline.
Vinny swallowed hard.
He hadn't meant to disturb this place—but grief left clues, and he needed them.
He scanned the workstation. Most files were encrypted, screens locked, but a physical drawer on the side caught his eye. Paper. Matthew never trusted everything to a network.
Inside, he found photographs.
Some were old—black-and-white prints of a woman who could only be Matthew's mother, smiling in a lab coat. Others were of Matthew as a boy, sitting beside hospital beds, eyes already too guarded for his age.
And then there was a newer image—grainy, from a surveillance feed. A figure in a lab suit unplugging the tubes from the main tank.
Vinny's breath froze.
The image was blurred, but the outline was unmistakable. Broad shoulders, short hair, the insignia on the sleeve—
One of Matthew's own guards.
He flipped the photo over.
Someone had scrawled a note on the back in black ink:
"The order came from inside. Check Project Elysium Phase Zero."
Phase Zero.
He'd seen the later phases—4, 5, 6—but never that one.
He turned to the computer again. The password prompt blinked at him.
He hesitated, then typed the first word that came to mind. Elysium.
Access granted.
The screen unfolded a mess of documents, lab results, genetic profiles. At the top of one file was a title that made his stomach twist.
PROJECT ELYSIUM — PHASE ZERO
Subject 01: V. Hale (Initial Donor)
He scrolled down. Lines of text blurred as he read.
"Donor tissue successfully integrated with Subject A-13 (M. Verrin). Neural compatibility achieved. Phase Zero terminated after Subject 01 classified as missing."
Vinny's pulse pounded in his ears.
Subject 01… V. Hale.
His full name. Vincent Hale.
He scrolled further, hands trembling.
"Initial donor extracted prior to procedure consent. Classified as asset, not patient. Data erased from primary record. Retrieval unnecessary once fusion stable."
His vision swam. He barely felt the stool under him as he sat down.
They hadn't just used his blood. They'd taken him—before he ever woke up on that alley floor.
Everything Matthew had told him—the story of finding him, saving him—was a rewrite.
He wasn't the lucky survivor. He was the origin.
The door behind him hissed open.
Vinny spun around, heart stuttering.
Matthew stood in the doorway, shirt half-unbuttoned, eyes shadowed with sleepless fury.
He took in the open drawer, the glowing screen, Vinny's expression.
For a moment, neither of them breathed.
"Vinny," Matthew said softly. "What are you doing here?"
Vinny's voice came out raw. "Finding out who I am."
Matthew's gaze flicked to the monitor. His composure cracked for the briefest instant. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"Why?" Vinny demanded. "Because then I'd know you built your miracle out of me?"
Matthew's lips parted, but no sound came.
"You lied to me," Vinny said, standing now, voice shaking. "You made me think you saved me, but I was already—already part of this. Your experiment."
Matthew stepped forward slowly. "It wasn't supposed to be like that. You were dying. The program was abandoned. I brought you back—"
"You made me part of it," Vinny cut in. "Just like her."
The air thickened between them. Machines beeped softly, indifferent witnesses.
"I didn't have a choice," Matthew said finally, voice breaking. "You were the only compatible one."
Vinny laughed—bitter, almost hysterical. "So I was never yours. I was hers."
Matthew's eyes flinched at the word.
Vinny's anger flickered, replaced for a second by the faintest pity—but it was gone as quickly as it came. "You talk about protecting me," he whispered. "But you're still the one who built the cage."
He brushed past him, chain clinking faintly as he moved. For once, Matthew didn't stop him.
Later, alone in his room again, Vinny sat by the window. The chain gleamed faintly in the moonlight.
Now it wasn't just control—it was evidence. Proof of what he was to Matthew: not a lover, not even a partner. A creation.
But the fire in his chest wasn't fear anymore. It was resolve.
If Project Elysium began with him, then he would end it.
And when he did, Matthew would have to choose—between his ghosts and the one thing that still dared to defy him.