(Nyx POV)
The tunnel opened to the wild, and for the first time in days, I breathed air that wasn't recycled through a vent. Cold, wet pine filled my lungs. The world was dark—but it was real.
I'm sure I walked for miles. At some point, I stopped following the yellow line. That probably saved my life, but it also left me lost. The forest smelled different here, sharp with sea salt. Somewhere ahead, I could hear the ocean.
Kelly stirred faintly inside me. Still too weak to shift, she whispered. Keep moving.
The night wrapped around me like a blanket as I pushed through the forest, one step at a time. The roar of the sea was faint but steady, the scent of salt threading through the trees. I followed it like it might lead me somewhere safe—somewhere unmarked on any map.
Hours later, the forest broke open into a roadside. A flickering neon sign buzzed in the distance: Penny's Place.
It looked like it had been there since before the war—tin roof, cracked windows, chrome chairs lined against a counter. Inside, it smelled like grease, coffee, and quiet mercy.
A woman in her fifties looked up from behind the counter, blue eyes kind but cautious.
"You look like you've seen a ghost, sweetheart," she said.
"Something like that," I murmured, sliding into a booth.
She poured me coffee without asking, then added softly, "Whatever it was, you're safe here for a while."
For a while. The most dangerous words in the world.
When she left, I pulled the field tablet from Willow's pack. Its casing was scratched, its insignia scorched off, but it powered up with a single press of my thumb. The device recognized me instantly—my blood, my identity, the ghost of every record they'd taken.
I stared at the small flash drive Willow had given me, hesitated, then slid it into the port.
The tablet flickered. Then it began to load file after file.
SUBJECT 17 – NYX VALE
PROJECT TRINITY: Genetic and Psychological Record – CLASSIFIED.
The screen was filled with data. Pictures.
My baby photo, swaddled in a white blanket.
My mother—Maria Vale—smiling faintly, eyes the same emerald green as mine, holding the twins.
A man beside her—tall, dark hair, the shape of his jaw too familiar to ignore. My father.
Then more:
Footage of three infants labeled Liora, Liana, Nyx.
Triplet identifiers. Genetic breakdowns. Psychological projections.
Dates ranged from years ago to the night I was taken.
Liora Vale — Empathic tendencies. Passive compliance. Ideal for public diplomacy.
Liana Vale — Narcissistic spectrum. Manipulative intelligence. Potential instability. Requires observation.
Nyx Vale — Strategic reasoning. Emotional resilience. High cognitive empathy. Potential leadership candidate. Requires control.
Control.
That word burned more than the rest.
File after file traced my life as if someone had been watching from the beginning. Combat training logs. Behavioral analytics. Dream recordings from my Academy evaluations. Everything I'd ever done cataloged, dissected, judged.
Then came the pictures of my sisters.
Liora—golden and serene—the "light."
Liana—her mirror twin—sharp-eyed, her smile never quite reaching her eyes.
And me—the outlier. The fraternal twin, darker-haired, same mother and father, born from the opposite side of fate.
The files confirmed what I'd always felt: I was too much like Liana. Strategic, relentless, unpredictable. The only difference was choice.
Then came the final entries.
The night of Liora's murder. The Shadow Fang agent's report. Liana's presence confirmed. Surveillance showed her pushing her own sister from the tower after she'd been stabbed.
Willow hadn't killed her. She'd only been trying to stop it.
Our entire lives are mapped from birth to betrayal. Images of my ceremony, taken from multiple angles. That same night. They could've ended us anytime they wanted.
Willow was right. They couldn't protect me—or my baby.
I scrolled through until my eyes blurred. By the time I looked up, the diner had grown quiet. Outside, dawn had passed, and sunlight slanted across the floor in long golden lines. I'd broken my own rule: never to stay in one place more than two hours.
Penny approached, wiping her hands on a towel. "You've been here all day," she said gently. "Do you need a room? There's one upstairs. Cheap, clean, and I don't ask questions."
"I shouldn't—" I began, but she cut me off with a knowing look.
"Honey, I've seen plenty of girls come through here. Eyes like yours. Running from someone who hurt them. You don't have to say it. Just rest tonight. The world can wait till morning."
Her kindness hit harder than any interrogation ever had.
"Maybe just one night," I said quietly.
Kelly's voice came, stronger than before. She has kind eyes. We can rest for a few more hours.
That was reason enough.
Penny smiled. "That's how it starts. Room three. I'll bring you some soup."
I climbed the narrow stairs, exhaustion crawling through my bones. The walls were faded green, the bed neatly made, the window cracked open just enough to let in the salt air.
I set the tablet on the nightstand and stared at it for a long time. All the truths I'd never asked for, now glowing softly in the dark.
I was supposed to be dead.
Instead, I was alive—and running.
Kelly whispered in the back of my mind, faint but steady. We live. We adapt.
I curled up on the bed, one hand over my stomach. "Then we start over."
The hum of the diner below faded. The ocean's rhythm filled the silence.
For the first time since the lab, I let my eyes close.
One night of rest couldn't hurt.
Could it?