Riley Cross didn't recognize his own heartbeat.
It echoed differently now—like an instrument he used to know how to play, but someone had tuned it in reverse. His ribs no longer thudded with sharp rhythm; they thrummed like a slow burn, deep and resonant.
He sat up inside the pod.
No. She.
That word came first, uninvited. Not foreign. Not forced.
Just... right.
Her body had changed. Taller. More agile. More balanced. Limbs that had once felt clunky now moved like water. Her fingertips twitched with reflexes that hadn't existed yesterday. She didn't just feel stronger—she felt coherent. Like the inside finally matched the outside.
She turned slowly and saw the other figure curled near the chamber's rear wall.
Daphne Thorne.
Formerly Evan.
Now—just as changed, and somehow still the same.
Her auburn hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder, matted with sweat. Her undersuit clung to her frame like a second skin, still sticky with serum residue. Her back rose and fell with each breath—shallow, careful.
"Are you okay?" Riley asked, voice cracking.
Daphne looked up.
Her eyes glowed faintly. Not bright, not blinding—just burning quietly, like coals.
"I think so," she said, and smiled. "Still me. Just... more flexible."
Riley blinked.
Something in her mind pulled—like a string attached between them, tight and humming. She didn't hear words. Not yet. But she felt something settle into place.
"Is this the Link?" she asked softly.
Daphne nodded, slowly sitting up. "Not the way they teach it. But yes. It's there. Between us."
Riley's hand went to her temple.
It wasn't a voice. Not quite.
But it was a presence.
Warmth. Weight. A second consciousness pressing gently against her own.
"Your thoughts..." she murmured.
"Are open to you," Daphne finished, speaking aloud. "If I let them."
"And if you don't?"
"Then they're shadows. Echoes. You'll feel me like a ghost in your spine."
Riley closed her eyes.
And for a heartbeat—
She wasn't alone.
She felt Daphne's pulse. Her tension. Her fear.
But also her certainty.
And, beneath it all, an echo of awe.
"You really did this for me?" Riley whispered.
"I did this for both of us."
They stayed there longer than they should've, inside the pod that birthed their new selves. The glow of the chamber faded slowly, leaving streaks of serum crystal along the walls. The scent of burnt metal and ozone still lingered, clinging to their skin like memory.
Eventually, Daphne stood—unsteady at first, but adjusting quickly. Her movements were sharper than Evan's had been. She stretched her hands and watched the bones shift smoothly beneath the skin.
"Feels like my nervous system got upgraded to a premium subscription," she muttered.
Riley laughed. Then stopped.
Her laugh had changed. Lighter. Brighter.
She didn't hate it.
Daphne turned and helped her up. Their hands met—
And something clicked.
Not just touch. Not just pressure.
Sync.
Riley gasped.
Images flared in her mind—memories not hers. Daphne as a child, hiding beneath a burned-out desk. Daphne as a teen, holding hands with a girl in the rain. Daphne alone in a lab, pouring serum into a scarred vial.
"Too much?" Daphne asked, pulling her hand away.
"No," Riley breathed. "Just... loud."
They exited the pod chamber carefully.
The halls were dim. Late. Silent.
No alarms. No footsteps.
Daphne checked the perimeter via her wrist-link—looping the surveillance logs, forging a time-stamp overwrite, scrambling biometric flags.
"You've really done this before," Riley whispered.
"I've read a lot of spy novels."
They moved through the back corridors of the Nova Veil base, sticking to the maintenance walkways where the drones didn't scan.
By the time they reached the lab, Riley was shaking.
Not from fear.
From overload.
Her thoughts moved too fast. Her skin buzzed with electricity. Her muscles itched to move, to fight, to burn.
"Normal?" she asked.
Daphne handed her a packet of nutrient gel.
"Part of the recalibration phase. Your neural patterns are still stabilizing. You'll feel like you've drunk six cups of chaos."
"Just six?"
Daphne opened a hidden drawer beneath her main console and pulled out two blank identification tablets.
"Time to make it official," she said.
It took most of the night.
Daphne used a Level 4 admin override to bypass the personnel registry. She generated a fake transfer manifest from Outpost Eight, listed under emergency classification. She inserted a falsified Kaelira-cleared directive authorizing a late-stage bond sync due to "strategic sero-delay protocol"—a term so technical no one would dare question it.
"Your name?" Daphne asked.
"Riley," she said. "Riley Cross."
"Why Riley?"
Riley thought.
"I don't know," she said finally. "It just... felt right. Like it was waiting for me."
Daphne typed it in. "Welcome to Nova Veil, Operative Cross."
"And you?"
Daphne smiled faintly. "Still Thorne. But I suppose Daphne fits better now."
They registered themselves as Pair #8112—Soul Link-certified.
Official. Alive.
Real.
Dawn broke like an old machine—slow, flickering, angry.
Outside, the main compound stirred to life. Soldiers emerged into the yard, drones lifted off the ground, and the transformation chambers began processing new recruits.
Riley stood near the edge of the main yard, fitted in a training suit two sizes too big and trying not to stare at her reflection in the polished glass. She'd braided her longer hair back to keep it out of her face. Her jawline was sharper than she remembered. Her eyes—still amber—burned now.
She turned—
And saw him.
Across the field, half-shrouded in mist, stood a figure in black robes. Not armor. Not techwear. Cloth. Heavy. Ornamental.
And his eyes—bright, pale, wrong—locked on hers with surgical intensity.
Riley froze.
She didn't know who he was.
But she knew exactly what he was looking for.
Her.
The Soul Link snapped tight.
Daphne?
I see him.
Who is he?
There was a pause.
Then Daphne's voice came, sharp and fast.
"That's Inquisitor Brael. Oversight Division. If he's here... he's hunting ghosts."
Riley's breath caught in her throat.
The Inquisitor smiled.
Not like someone who'd seen her.
Like someone who'd found her.