The wrench slipped from my grip, and I swore under my breath as it clattered against the steel floor. “Piece of shit,” I muttered, glaring at the panel like it had personally insulted me. My arms were already sore, my shirt sticking to my pressure suit from the sweat I’d worked up.


    “Careful, Princess,” Reid called from where he leaned lazily against the ladder. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but I could hear the grin in his voice. “If you keep glaring like that, it might just unscrew itself out of fear.”


    “Thanks for the help, really,” I snapped, wiping sweat from my brow with my shoulder. “Are you actually going to pitch in, or is moral support all I’m getting?”


    “Moral support’s important,” he said, shrugging. “Besides, you’re doing fine. Slow and steady wins the race, right?”


    I yanked harder on the wrench, my new teeth clenched. “Slow and steady is useless when the nanos and drones are supposed to be doing this crap. What’s the point of having a self-healing ship if it’s going to slack off?”


    “Now, now,” Reid said, stepping closer, that infuriating grin never leaving his face. “Sometimes it needs the human touch. You know—blood, sweat, and tears. Though in your case, we’ve got all three covered, so I guess we’re good.”


    I gave him a flat look. “Funny. I’m struggling over here, in case you didn’t notice.”


    He crouched down next to me, inspecting the panel like he was actually considering helping. “Oh, I noticed. Nothing new there. And hey, I get paid by the hour, so take your time.”


    “Paid in beer,” I shot back.


    “And damn fine beer, thank you very much,” he replied, tapping the side of the panel. “Alright, show me what’s got you so pissed off.”


    I shifted to show him the bolt. “It’s stuck. Like, stuck-stuck.”


    Reid let out a low whistle. “Well, yeah, looks like it. You just need to give it a little more muscle. Come on, Princess, you’ve got it.”


    “If I’m royalty, you must be the village idiot,” I muttered automatically, planting my feet and gripping the wrench with both hands. I shoved hard, and with a loud, reluctant screech, the bolt finally gave way. Unfortunately, so did my grip. My hand slipped, and my knuckles slammed into the edge of the panel.


    “Fuck!” I hissed, clutching my hand as pain flared hot and sharp.


    “See? Blood, sweat, and tears,” Reid said, smirking as he leaned back. “Though I’m still not seeing the tears. You’re tougher than I gave you credit for.”


    “Shut up,” I muttered, watching as the cut on my knuckles closed itself within seconds, the pain fading as quickly as it came. But not fast enough to stop the familiar pang that followed—a deep, gnawing hunger that twisted my stomach like a fist.


    Reid’s eyebrow quirked as he watched me flex my fingers. “You good?”


    “Yeah,” I said quickly, shoving the hunger down. “Just caught it wrong.”


    Reid raised an eyebrow, his smirk firmly in place. “If you say so, Doc.” His tone was teasing, but there was a flicker of something behind his sunglasses—like he didn’t quite believe me. Still, he let it slide, his grin shifting to something more mischievous. “Though I gotta say, you’re looking a lot healthier these days. That tight suit of yours wasn’t filling out so nicely a few weeks ago. Almost like you’ve been sneaking an extra ration or two.”


    My jaw tightened, heat creeping up my neck. “Careful, Reid. You’re about one sentence away from me ‘accidentally’ leaving a wrench where the sun don''t shine.”


    “Relax,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just making an observation. I mean, I don’t mind the extra curves—it’s good for morale.”


    “You’re an ass,” I muttered, turning back to the panel to hide the flush spreading across my cheeks.


    “And you’re good at this,” he replied, ignoring my insult entirely. “Even with all the grumbling. Which, by the way, you and Garin have in common.”


    I rolled my eyes, still not looking at him. “Great. Now I’m being compared to the guy who thinks being a dick is a personality trait. Thanks, Reid.”


    “Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” Reid shot back, grinning. “At least you’re useful when you’re pissed off. Garin just turns into background noise. Honestly, I think he complains out of habit at this point.”


    I gritted my teeth, adjusting the wrench. “He’s got nothing better to do. You, on the other hand, are supposed to be helping me. What the hell is with you standing around while I do all the work?”


    “And ruin the fun? Nah,” he said, stretching like he’d been hard at work instead of watching me sweat for the past twenty minutes. “Besides, you’re doing better than fine. At this rate, I’ll be out of a job. Unless, of course, you want me sticking around to enjoy the view.”


    “You wish,” I shot back, wiping my hands on my shirt. The hunger clawed at my stomach again, sharp and insistent, but I forced myself to focus on the task, ignoring the ache and Reid’s smirk.


    “Delegation is a skill, Princess,” he added, still grinning. “And moral support? That’s a goddamn art form. You’re welcome, by the way.”


    I huffed, trying not to laugh, but a reluctant smile tugged at my lips. Damn him. Reid had that effect—infuriating as hell, but somehow making the shit jobs feel a little less like, well, shit.


    The comm system crackled to life before I could respond, Captain Warren’s voice cutting through the air. “All crew to the bridge. Briefing in five. Move it.”


    Reid groaned dramatically, peeling off his gloves and tucking them into his belt. “Well, sermon time it is. Let’s see what fresh hell Warren’s cooked up for us today.”


    I shoved the wrench into my tool belt and followed him out of the maintenance bay. The hum of the ship filled the silence between us, steady and familiar, but for once, it didn’t grate on my nerves. Maybe it was just Reid’s presence—his stupid confidence and that cocky grin that somehow made the oppressive weight of the day feel lighter.


    As we stepped into the corridor, a maintenance drone whirred to life behind us, its mechanical arms extending to finish the job I’d been struggling with. It effortlessly tightened bolts and sealed the panel, accomplishing in minutes what would’ve taken me hours of sweat and swearing. I paused mid-step, glancing back to see the machine’s precise movements.


    “Of course,” I muttered, rolling my eyes at the infuriating efficiency. “Lazy piece of junk waits until I’m done bleeding to step in.”


    Reid smirked, barely glancing over his shoulder. “But then how would you ever learn? Can’t trust AI all the time, Princess.”


    I shot him a glare, but he just shrugged, his grin widening as he sauntered down the hall. The drone’s soft mechanical hum faded behind us, its irritating competence just one more reminder that even the machines seemed to have their act together better than I did.


    The whispers, always there in the back of my mind, clawing and relentless, had slowed to a crawl. It was strange—unsettling, even—but in the best way. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt... quiet. Peaceful.


    I glanced at Reid as he walked beside me, his sunglasses catching the dim light, his Hawaiian shirt swaying with each step. He was relaxed, almost carefree, like the galaxy’s problems couldn’t touch him. It wasn’t ignorance, though. It was the kind of calm that came from just not giving a damn. And for a fleeting moment, I let myself soak in that peace, let it bleed into the corners of my thoughts, dulling the hunger and the whispers.


    It wouldn’t last. It never did. But for now, it was enough.


    The bridge came into view as Reid and I rounded the last corner, the usual low murmur of the crew falling silent as we entered. The air was thick with tension, the kind that pressed on your chest and made every breath feel heavier. Captain Warren stood at the central display, his silhouette sharp against the glowing hologram that flickered in the middle of the room.


    Reid leaned in close, his grin firmly in place. “Think this is about topping off the tank again? Maybe another ‘borrowed’ star to refuel the core? Nothing says sustainable energy like cosmic theft.”


    “Careful, Prometheus,” I murmured back, keeping my voice low. “You pitch ideas like that, and Warren might tie you to the hull—though knowing you, you’d probably enjoy it.”


    Reid’s grin widened, a mischievous glint flashing behind his sunglasses. “Depends on who’s tying the knots, Princess.”


    I rolled my eyes, fighting back the heat creeping up my neck. “You’re impossible.”


    “And yet, here I am,” he shot back, clearly pleased with himself.


    Reid’s chuckle was quick and sharp, but it faded the moment my eyes locked on the hologram. A ghost ship dredged up from the darkest days of survival.


    The whispers clawed their way back into my mind, sharper than before, cutting through the fragile quiet like a blade.


    The Hemlock, the voice murmured, low and insistent. My family''s legacy. Humanity’s first step to the stars. Look closer.


    I froze, my pulse pounding in my ears, the world narrowing to the sight of the ship. The laughter that had lingered in Reid’s voice vanished. Every muscle in my body tensed as that single word echoed again, relentless.


    The Hemlock.


    It wasn’t just a ship. It was a piece of him, a piece of the shadow I could never escape. And now it was here, dredged up from the void like some relic that refused to die.


    The Hemlock wasn’t just a relic of humanity’s past—it was a ghost of desperation, woven into the myths and whispers that followed my family’s name. Officially, it was said to have been built by my great-great-grandfather over two centuries ago, during Earth’s final golden age. But darker rumors claimed my father himself had overseen its construction, not just as a scientist or engineer, but as something more—a shadow from humanity’s fading glory, lingering far beyond the years he should have lived.


    I swallowed hard, my throat dry. How old was he when he had me? I’d tried to do the math, but it never made sense. Born in 2448, I was part of Earth’s final chapter, but my father was always... older. Untouchable. His age was obscured by layers of genetic manipulation and whispered legends. Some said he had been there before the first fusion core ignited, guiding humanity through its darkest hours as a king without a crown.


    A "king" who had ruled too long.


    Even now, decades after his death, his shadow lingered, etched into ships like the Hemlock, into whispered stories of salvation and control. And here it was—dredged up from the void like a relic that refused to die.


    The Hemlock hung in the hologram, spinning slowly, its skeletal framework stark and haunting. Captain Warren’s voice cut through the tension that filled the bridge as we gathered around the glowing projection.


    “This ship,” he began, his voice even but weighted with meaning, “was the first of its kind. The Hemlock launched on August 17, 2287, after the fires of World War IV had barely cooled. Earth wasn’t just dying—it was clinging to life by its fingertips. The air was poison, the oceans rising, food scarce. People called it the end times. The Hemlock was humanity’s first attempt to escape, built with the kind of desperation that left no room for error.”


    I couldn’t tear my eyes from the ship. It was crude but bold—a monument to the desperate gamble of survival. The Hemlock relied on centrifugal force to simulate gravity, each slow rotation of its frame a stark reminder of an era when technology hadn’t yet caught up to humanity’s ambition. Its design was bare-bones, functional to a fault. If the Jericho was humanity’s crowning achievement, the Hemlock was the desperate prototype that made it possible.


    Warren gestured to the spinning projection, its compartments harsh and utilitarian compared to the Jericho’s sleek form. “Its systems were barely functional,” he continued, “held together with post war tech, scavenged resources, and hope. Its fusion core was the first of its kind. The FTL drive? Calling it experimental would be generous.”


    Vega, standing at the navigation console, let out a low whistle as her sharp eyes scanned the details. “This thing’s a fossil,” she said. “No artificial gravity, no shielding worth a damn, and life support systems that probably ran on luck more than tech. It’s not just a step back in time—it’s the stone age of space travel.”


    Warren nodded, his tone grim. “The Hemlock was humanity’s first shot at interstellar survival—a prototype for the ships that followed, built on desperation and the barest hope. It’s a miracle it launched at all.”


    The whispers stirred faintly in my mind, threading fragments of my father’s voice through the heavy silence. Legacy. Progress. Evolution.


    Warren shifted the display, zooming in on the Hemlock’s central fusion core, its outline flickering in pale blue light. “The Hemlock was built on the foundations laid by Voss Industries,” he said, his tone steady. “The only megacorp in North America to survive the chaos of World War IV. Without their advancements in fusion technology and early FTL drives, this ship wouldn’t have left the ground.”


    I stared at the schematic, the glowing core at its heart. Records credited John Voss, my great-great-grandfather, a relentless industrialist who had driven humanity’s first steps off a dying Earth. But the rumors were louder, more insistent. Was it really him—or was it my father, pulling the strings even then? To some, Julian Voss was a savior; to others, a manipulator, shaping humanity’s trajectory from the shadows. Even I didn’t know where the truth ended and the myths began.


    Warren’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Voss Industries didn’t just shape the Hemlock—it shaped everything that followed. This ship is a testament to humanity’s desperation—and its ability to survive.”


    Vega stepped forward, her sharp eyes scanning the projection. “Desperation’s one word for it. But whatever tech they slapped on this thing back then, it worked. Even if cryo was just a prototype, there might still be survivors onboard. That’s where we need to focus.”


    Her words grounded me, pulling me back to the present. The whispers faded to the edges of my mind as I forced myself to focus on the flickering projection. The Hemlock wasn’t just a relic of humanity’s past—it was a gamble that could still carry danger.


    Warren’s tone sharpened, pulling the room’s attention. “The Hemlock launched carrying the first generation of humanity’s great experiment. Genetic editing protocols were rushed, cryo systems were untested, and side effects were severe—mutations, instability, death. The ship lost contact with Earth just decades after launch and was presumed destroyed. Until now.”


    A heavy silence fell over the room, broken only by the hum of the Jericho’s systems. A few of the crew glanced my way—quick, fleeting looks, but enough to send a prickling heat crawling up the back of my neck. They weren’t looking at me because I was speaking. They were looking because of who my father was. The rumors. The stories.


    I clenched my fists against the rising tide of unease. They all know. They’ve heard the whispers, same as me. That Julian Voss hadn’t just created the technology that built the Hemlock—he might have been there. Pulling strings. Shaping history.


    Warren’s sharp tone cut through the hum of the bridge, his words landing heavily. “I don’t bring this up lightly,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the room. “I want you all to understand the gravity of this situation. The Hemlock is less than a month away. That’s barely enough time to prepare for something of this magnitude. If there’s anything onboard—anything—that resembles the dangers we’ve already faced, this crew needs to be ready.”


    He gestured to the hologram, and the display shifted, zooming in on the fractured, jagged signal that had brought us here. The sound of the faint pulse, erratic and uneven, filled the room, amplifying the unease. “This signal,” Warren continued, his voice low but deliberate, “was sent over 100 years ago. Whatever message it carried is long gone, degraded beyond recognition. We can’t decipher its meaning, and that uncertainty should have you all on edge.”


    The silence that followed was suffocating. A distress signal that old meant the Hemlock had been in trouble long before any of us were even born. The faint pulse, that whisper from the void, wasn’t just ancient—it was a ghost, lingering far beyond its time. What could possibly have survived a century of silence?


    Even Vega, usually composed, let out a quiet breath as she studied the shifting projection. “So, we’re heading toward the unknown,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “A century-old cry for help, and no way of knowing what we’re walking into.”


    Warren nodded grimly. “Precisely. This isn’t just a salvage mission. The Hemlock represents the desperation of a dying Earth—but that doesn’t mean it’s harmless. If we aren’t prepared, we’ll find ourselves dealing with more than outdated tech or failed cryo systems. And let me be clear—Lab 3 was sealed for a reason.”


    The mention of Lab 3 sent a ripple through the room, subtle but undeniable. Even those who tried to maintain their composure shifted uncomfortably. Warren’s comparison wasn’t just a warning—it was a declaration that the stakes were as high as they could be. Whatever waited aboard the Hemlock wasn’t just history; it was a potential threat.


    Glances flickered my way, brief but heavy, as though my very presence stirred the rumors tied to my name. Voss Industries had built the Hemlock. Everyone knew that. And whether they believed the stories about my father or not, the shadow of my family’s legacy loomed over this moment, cold and suffocating.


    The whispers stirred faintly, threading through my mind like smoke, disjointed and insistent. “Find the clearance. The bloodline remains. A young Voss… his codes still breathe.”


    My breath hitched, my pulse quickening as the words needled their way deeper into my thoughts. The whispers rarely made sense, but there was something deliberate about these fragments—something that refused to be ignored. “The door knows you. Lab 3 remembers. The key… buried in the Hemlock.”


    I clenched my fists, grounding myself against the spiraling thoughts. My father’s voice, or the memory of it, seemed to echo through the words. The whispers had a way of making everything feel inevitable, like they were speaking truths I didn’t want to acknowledge. If the Hemlock was truly his design—his work—then maybe the whispers were right. If the clearance existed, if it tied to a younger version of Julian Voss, then maybe… just maybe…Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The thoughts coiled tightly around my mind, refusing to let go. The whispers grew softer, fading to a faint hum, but their suggestion lingered like an itch I couldn’t scratch. If the Hemlock was the key, then Lab 3’s secrets were waiting—buried but reachable. I just had to claim them.


    Warren’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and steady, grounding me in the present. “The signal’s degradation complicates everything,” he said, his gaze sweeping the room. “For all we know, it could have been corrupted decades ago. But if there’s even a chance survivors remain—or that remnants of Voss Industries’ early work are still active—we need to prepare for the worst.”


    His eyes locked on me, his voice cutting through my spiraling thoughts. “Sol, you and Ashly have the most important task here. Your job is to dig through the archives—focus on anything tied to Voss Industries’ early genetic editing, fusion core development, or cryo protocols. If there’s any connection between their work and the Hemlock’s systems, I want to know about it before we’re within range.”


    I nodded quickly, forcing myself to stay composed even as Ashly shifted nervously beside me. The whispers brushed against my mind again, their tone insistent and demanding. I clenched my fists, grounding myself in the weight of the moment.


    Warren’s gaze moved across the room, assigning tasks with the same clipped efficiency. “Reid, Garin—you’re on weapons and defense. I want the railguns operational, shield systems at peak capacity, and all secondary systems tested and ready to engage.”


    Reid gave a mock salute, his grin flickering despite the tension. “Ready to blow something up, Cap.”


    Garin rolled his eyes but nodded, already flipping through the schematics on his tablet.


    “Holt, Jimmy,” Warren continued, turning to them. “You’ll focus on manufacturing more ammunition and reinforcing the hull integrity. If the Hemlock’s tech has degraded this much, we can’t assume it’s the only thing falling apart out there.”


    Holt nodded silently, his expression unreadable. Jimmy muttered something about logistics but didn’t protest.


    “Vega,” Warren said, his tone softening slightly as he addressed her. “You’ll coordinate our approach along side Jericho and monitor the Hemlock’s signal. If there’s any change in its trajectory, I want to know immediately.”


    “Understood,” Vega said, her fingers already flying over her console.


    Warren stepped back, his gaze sweeping over the room one final time. “This isn’t just another mission. The Hemlock is a relic from a time when survival demanded reckless gambles and impossible choices. That doesn’t make it any less dangerous. Whatever’s waiting for us onboard, we’re stepping into the unknown. Stay sharp and be ready for anything. Dismissed.”


    As the crew began to scatter, I lingered, my gaze fixed on the Hemlock’s skeletal form. The whispers stirred again, faint but insistent. Legacy. Secrets. Claim what’s yours.


    Ashly hovered nearby, clutching her tablet tightly, avoiding my gaze as she hurried out of the room. Reid fell into step beside me, his easy grin in place as we made our way out of the bridge.


    “Looks like you’ve got some digging to do,” he said, his tone light. “Meanwhile, I’ll be blowing stuff up. Fair trade, right?”


    “Right,” I muttered, my thoughts still spinning.


    Reid stopped as we reached the intersection that split toward the archives and engineering. “Hey,” he said, grinning as he adjusted his gloves. “Try to behave yourself down there, alright? Poor Ashly’s probably shaking in her boots already. She’s sweet—you lucked out.”


    I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Right, because digging through half-corrupted files is paradise.”


    “Hey, could be worse,” he said, his grin widening as he started backing away toward engineering. “You could be stuck with Garin. Trust me, Princess, you’d lose your mind in five minutes. Guy treats every malfunction like it’s a personal insult.”


    I gave him a flat look, crossing my arms. “And you don’t?”


    “Difference is,” he said, pointing finger guns at me, “I make it look good. Garin’s just loud, sweaty, and impossible. Count your blessings, Sol.”


    He turned with a chuckle, heading off toward his workstation, leaving me shaking my head. Great, I thought. I get whispers clawing at my brain, and Reid gets to crack jokes and blow stuff up. Fantastic.


    The whispers slowed to a faint hum as I turned toward the archives, but they didn’t leave me entirely. They lingered at the edges of my thoughts, persistent and relentless, as if they were waiting for the right moment to strike.


    Ashly walked beside me, her tablet clutched tightly in her hands, her shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller. For a while, we said nothing, the silence between us stretching thin.


    “What do you think of the crew?” I asked, trying to cut through the oppressive quiet.


    Ashly glanced at me, startled, then shrugged. “They’re fine, I guess.”


    “Just fine?” I pressed, my voice sharper than I intended. “Come on, you’ve worked with Garin. He’s... a lot.”


    Her grip on the tablet tightened, her shoulders stiffening. “He’s demanding,” she admitted cautiously. “But he knows what he’s doing. It’s not my place to question him.”


    The rehearsed tone of her response didn’t sit right with me. “Not your place?” I echoed, side-eyeing her as we walked. “Even when he’s barking orders and acting like he’s better than everyone?”


    Ashly’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He’s a perfectionist,” she said evenly. “He expects a lot, but that’s because he has to. People like him... they keep the rest of us in line.”


    I raised an eyebrow. “And you’re okay with that? Following orders without asking questions?”


    “It’s not about being okay with it,” she said, her voice tight. “It’s about getting the job done.”


    Her defensiveness piqued my curiosity, but I let it drop—for now. There was something else I needed to know, something I couldn’t ignore any longer.


    “What about Dr. Knight?” I asked casually, watching her out of the corner of my eye. The question made her falter, her step slowing for a split second before she quickly recovered.


    “What about her?” Ashly said, her tone carefully neutral.


    “She worked with my father,” I said, leaning into the inquiry. “You worked with her too, didn’t you?”


    Ashly hesitated, her grip tightening on the tablet again. “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she said softly. “Dr. Knight was brilliant. That’s all you need to know.”


    I stopped walking, forcing her to halt a few steps ahead of me. “That’s all I need to know?” I repeated, my voice sharper now. “Come on, Ashly. You were there. You know more than you’re letting on.”


    Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned to face me, her eyes wide and wary. “Sol, please,” she said, her voice low. “Just leave it alone.”


    The plea in her tone made me hesitate, but only for a moment. The whispers buzzed faintly in my mind, tugging at my resolve. Push. Find the truth.


    Ashly must’ve seen the determination in my expression, because she quickly turned and resumed walking, her pace brisk. “We’re here to focus on the Hemlock,” she said over her shoulder, her tone clipped. “Let’s just do the job.”


    I frowned but followed her, the tension between us thickening with every step. When we finally reached the archives, the door slid shut behind us with a soft hiss. The room was cold, sterile, its walls lined with screens and sealed cases of physical records. Ashly immediately moved to a terminal, her fingers dancing over the keys as she pulled up files.


    But her earlier words—and the hesitation in her voice—clung to me like smoke. The whispers stirred again, faint but insistent, as I watched her work.


    Ashly dove into her work, her movements sharp and deliberate, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. The faint glow of the terminal illuminated her face, casting deep shadows under her eyes. I leaned against the edge of the console, pretending to study the files she pulled up, but my attention kept darting back to her.


    The first few files were a mess of redactions and incomplete data. Reports on the Hemlock’s genetic editing protocols. Cryo experiments riddled with failures. Notes on harrowing mortality rates.


    “Early fusion cores,” Ashly murmured, her voice strained. “And genetic augmentation. They threw everything they had into that ship, didn’t they?”


    “Desperation,” I muttered, barely louder than a whisper. “It’s the only game humanity’s ever been good at.”


    She froze, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, before resuming her work, her jaw tightening. “And look where that’s gotten us.”


    There was something in her voice—a bitterness that wasn’t just about the files in front of her. I let the silence stretch as she opened another document, its contents scattered and incomplete. But one phrase, highlighted in flickering text, sent a chill crawling up my spine: mutation rates, psychological degradation, cellular instability.


    “How many people were on the Hemlock?” I asked, my voice lower now.


    “Hundreds,” Ashly replied, her voice thin and brittle. “But between the rushed editing protocols and cryo complications...” She trailed off, her breath catching as she read further. “Dear God. How many centuries have we played God?”


    Her words struck something deep in my chest, dragging a memory to the surface. The note. Evolution is better left to nature and God. My pulse quickened, the pieces clicking into place like the sharp edge of a blade.


    “It was you,” I said, my voice low, cutting through the stillness.


    Ashly’s shoulders stiffened, her hand freezing over the terminal. “What are you talking about?”


    “You left the note,” I pressed, stepping closer. My voice sharpened, slicing through the thin air. “You know about Lab 3. About the yellow-eyed monster.”


    Her breath hitched, but she didn’t turn to face me. Instead, her trembling fingers resumed tapping at the screen. “I don’t know what you’re—”


    “Stop lying!” The words tore out of me louder than I intended, and she flinched. The whispers surged in my mind, relentless, their voices drowning out everything else. She’s hiding it. She knows what happened. Make her talk.


    Ashly turned slightly, just enough for me to see the fear in her wide eyes. “Sol, you’re upset. Let’s... let’s just focus on the archives, alright? We can—”


    “Why did you want me to give up on my father’s legacy?” I cut her off, my voice trembling with barely restrained anger. My hands curled into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms. “What happened to Wilks in Lab 3? What are you so afraid of?”


    Her back hit the console as she edged away from me, her voice cracking. “Sol, please, you don’t understand—”


    “Then make me understand!” I snarled, the whispers pushing me forward, my hunger flaring alongside the rage. “Tell me what he did! What you did! What’s in Lab 3?”


    “I can’t!” she cried, shaking her head violently. “You don’t want to know. It’s—it’s worse than you can imagine.”


    The whispers roared, their command undeniable. She’s lying. She’s hiding it. Force the truth out of her.


    Before I realized it, my hand shot out and latched onto Ashly’s wrist. The tablet clattered to the floor, forgotten, as she yelped and tried to pull away. Her breaths came in shallow, panicked gasps, but I didn’t let go. My fingers tightened around her wrist, my nails digging into her soft flesh, leaving crescent-shaped marks that quickly darkened to angry red.


    “Sol—let go!” she whimpered, her voice trembling. Her other hand clawed weakly at my arm, but I held firm. My grip was unrelenting, driven by the whispers that surged in my mind like a rising tide.


    “What are you hiding?” I hissed, my voice low and dangerous. “What do you know about the yellow-eyed monster? About Lab 3?”


    Her face twisted in pain, her wide, tear-filled eyes darting to my face and then downward, to where my nails bit into her wrist. Blood welled up in tiny, perfect beads beneath the crescent indents, trailing down her pale skin in thin, glistening lines.


    “I… I don’t…” she stammered, her words faltering under the mounting pressure. She writhed in my grasp, her breaths hitching as I tightened my hold. “What monster?”


    The whispers surged again, louder now, insidious and commanding.


    The answer is in her flesh. In her bones. Break her open! Make her talk!


    “Stop lying,” I snarled, my voice trembling with fury and something darker, something alien. My hunger surged, clawing at my stomach, sharp and insistent. My teeth ached in my jaw, the familiar pressure flaring. I could feel my canines sharpening, lengthening, brushing against the edge of my lips. Ashly’s eyes darted up to my mouth, widening in pure terror.


    “Your… your teeth,” she stammered, her voice breaking into a panicked sob. “What the hell is wrong with you?”


    I didn’t need a mirror to know what she saw. The sharp, unnatural curve of my fangs glinted in the harsh lab light. The hunger roared louder, relentless, and the whispers pushed me further.


    Tear her flesh. Devour her. Sink your teeth in. The truth is inside her.


    I leaned closer, my nails digging deeper into her flesh. Her blood smeared against my hand, hot and sticky, the metallic tang hitting my senses. My stomach twisted with a brutal, gnawing ache. “Tell me the truth!” I growled. “What are you hiding? What is it?”


    Her chest heaved, and for a moment, I thought she’d stay silent. Then, with a choked sob, the words tumbled out, strained and broken. “We… brought him back.”


    My heart thudded in my chest, the words hitting me like a blow. “Brought who back?” I demanded, my voice rising.


    Her lips quivered as she gasped for air, her tears streaking her face. “Wilks,” she choked out, the name barely audible.


    I froze, my blood running cold. “What do you mean, you brought him back?” I tightened my grip without realizing it, and Ashly screamed as my nails bit deeper into her flesh. Her blood smeared against my hand, hot and sticky, dripping onto the floor.


    “The… the serum,” she gasped, each word a struggle. “Knight gave him the serum… the same one your father gave you… Project Phoenix.”


    Her wrist twisted under my hand, her skin bruising rapidly, angry purples and reds blooming beneath the thin layer of blood. The hunger clawed at me again, sharp and demanding, as I leaned closer. My canines grazed my bottom lip, and I fought the rising urge to bite down, to taste the blood I could smell, rich and metallic.


    “The same serum?” I growled, my voice rough and trembling. “But it didn’t work on him, did it?”


    She whimpered, her head shaking weakly, the pain clearly overwhelming her. Her tears mixed with the sweat on her pale face, her sobs ragged and broken. “It… killed him,” she finally spat out, her voice raw. “Then… the Hydra dose… after he was… dead…” She choked the words out between gasps, her teeth clenched against the pain.


    Her words sent a cold wave of dread washing over me, but I couldn’t stop. The whispers urged me on, their relentless command echoing in my mind.


    Break her open. The answer is inside. Make her talk!


    “And then what? What happened to him?” My voice cracked, rising with desperation. “What did he become?”


    Ashly writhed in my grip, her breath catching in gasps, her body trembling violently. “Please,” she sobbed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Stop, Sol… please… it hurts…”


    “What did he become?!” I roared, shaking her arm. Her head lolled back against the console, and her legs gave out beneath her as her strength waned. Her blood slicked my palm now, sticky and warm, pooling in the grooves where my nails pressed deeper.


    Ashly’s lips trembled as she forced out a hoarse, gasping whisper. “A monster… he became a monster… like you…”


    The words hit me like a physical blow, and my breath caught in my throat. Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked on mine, terror etched into every line of her face. She opened her mouth to speak again, but no words came—only a strangled, wet gasp. Her body jerked violently as she tried to twist free, her efforts sending fresh waves of pain through her wrist. The sobs that escaped her were ragged, broken, powerless.


    You are not a monster, Sol. You are the chosen one, humanity’s last hope, humanity’s queen. The whispers hissed, dark and relentless, slithering into every corner of my mind. They wrapped around my thoughts, strangling reason, twisting my rage and hunger into something feral, something unstoppable.


    The smell of her blood hit me like a drug—hot, metallic, alive. It crawled up my nose, invaded my senses, and ignited the fire that already raged in my veins. My stomach clenched, the hunger clawing at me, screaming for more, louder with every second. My heart thundered in my chest, every beat amplifying the insidious voices.


    This is your gift, Sol. Do not deny it. Do not resist what you are.


    Heat surged through me, wild and uncontrollable, burning away anything soft or rational. My grip tightened, her blood slick between my fingers, the pulse beneath her skin a maddening rhythm that made the whispers louder. My teeth throbbed with sharp, unnatural pressure, the ache deep and primal. I could feel my jaw tightening, the points of my canines sharpening, aching to bite, to tear.


    Ashly’s voice broke through, desperate, a weak, trembling plea. “Sol… please… stop…”


    CRACK!!


    The sound was obscene, a bone-deep snap that echoed in the suffocating silence. Her wrist shattered in my grasp, the jagged bone pressing grotesquely against the skin, threatening to break through. The wet, visceral noise reverberated through the room, dragging a raw, primal scream from Ashly’s throat. It wasn’t just pain in her voice—it was betrayal, fear, horror, all bleeding together in a sound that felt like a knife against my ears.


    Her body crumpled beneath me, her arm limp and broken. Blood streamed down her wrist, warm and sticky, coating my hand. The scent filled the room, thick and suffocating, driving the hunger to a brutal, razor-sharp edge. The taste of iron flooded my mouth before I even realized I’d licked my lips.


    The whispers surged, triumphant now, louder than ever: This is strength. This is power. You are perfection, Sol. Take what is yours. Tear. Devour.


    My pulse roared in my ears as her sobs filled the air, weak and gasping, her strength drained. The trembling of her body against mine fed the darkness growing inside me. My teeth pressed harder into my bottom lip, the tips of my sharpened canines drawing blood. The whispers didn’t just suggest—I could feel their command, a driving force as natural as breathing, impossible to resist.


    I stared at her wrist, the jagged edges of bone pressing against torn flesh, her blood pooling in vivid, glistening red. My stomach twisted violently, not with revulsion but with need. The hunger consumed everything, turning the smell of blood into the sweetest torment, each drop calling to me.


    Take it. You need it. You deserve it. She is nothing. You are everything.


    A low, guttural snarl tore from my throat as I fought to steady myself. My hands trembled, slick with blood, as my hand flexed unconsciously. The room spun, hazy and red, as if the walls themselves had been painted in violence. I wanted to stop—God, I wanted to—but the hunger, the whispers, the fire in my veins were too strong. Too loud.


    I wasn’t Sol anymore. I was something else, something raw and brutal, something made of instinct and rage. I was my father’s masterpiece, his twisted vision of salvation.


    I was his legacy.


    The guilt hit instantly, sharp and suffocating. Ashly’s screams echoed in my ears, her sobs carving into my chest. Her blood. Her pain. My fault.


    This wasn’t salvation. It was destruction. My father’s shadow loomed, but this? This was me.


    Ashly’s face contorted in pure agony, her eyes squeezing shut as her screams turned into broken, gasping sobs. “Oh God… oh my God, Sol…” she whimpered, clutching her shattered arm against her chest. Her voice trembled with shock and pain, her tears streaming freely down her face. “You broke it… you broke it…”


    The door slid open with a hiss, and Holt’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding. “Sol! Stand down, now!”


    His presence filled the room like a storm, his heavy footsteps echoing with authority. My vision blurred as I turned to him, my hands trembling. Ashly’s pale, tear-streaked face twisted in pain as she cradled her broken arm, and my chest tightened, suffocating under the enormity of the moment.


    Holt’s gaze shifted from Ashly to me, his expression a cold, unyielding mask of fury. “What the hell is going on here?” His tone was low, clipped, and full of restrained anger.


    I opened my mouth to explain, but nothing came out. My teeth ached, sharp and unnatural, and the whispers lingered like a shadow, faint but taunting. Before I could react, Holt’s hand snapped to the cuffs on his belt, the metallic glint a warning I was powerless to stop.


    “On the ground. Now!” he barked, his voice brooking no argument as he stepped toward me.


    I hesitated for a moment too long. He grabbed my arm with a strength that left no room for resistance, forcing me down with brutal efficiency. My knees hit the cold floor hard, the impact jarring. He twisted my arms behind my back, the cuffs biting into my wrists with a harsh snap. I gasped, the sudden restraint cutting through the remnants of the whispers like a bucket of freezing water.


    Holt leaned in close, his voice low and deadly. “Stay down. Don’t fucking move. Don’t even think.”


    I didn’t resist. I couldn’t. My breaths came shallow and ragged, the weight of my actions crashing over me like a tidal wave. Ashly’s sobs echoed in the room, raw and painful, each one a reminder of the damage I’d done. Holt released me and turned his attention to her, leaving me kneeling on the floor, bound and trembling.


    “Yates,” Holt barked into his radio, his tone sharp and urgent. “Get to the archives now. Medical emergency.”


    Ashly whimpered softly, clutching her arm as she leaned against the console, her body trembling with pain. Holt crouched beside her, his voice softening slightly but still firm. “Ashly, stay with me. Look at me. Help’s on the way, alright? Just breathe.”


    Her only response was a broken sob, her eyes screwed shut against the pain. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from her crumpled form, the bruising already spreading across her arm, the way she flinched when Holt gently touched her shoulder. The whispers had gone silent now, retreating to the edges of my mind, but their damage was done.


    I stared at the floor, my heart pounding in my ears, my breaths hitching as I fought to suppress the rising panic. My teeth throbbed in my skull, my jaw aching from the unnatural sharpness of my canines. I’d felt the hunger flare in that moment, the heat of anger fusing with the terrible need—and it had consumed me.


    I am a fucking monster.


    The words lingered in my mind, unspoken but deafening, a judgment that sank its claws deep into my chest. Holt shot a glance back at me, his expression dark and unreadable, but he didn’t say anything.


    I didn’t either. What could I say? The burn of the cuffs, the sound of Ashly’s choked sobs, and the crushing realization of my strength left me hollow. The whispers were gone now, but their damage remained.


    I hurt her. The thought twisted in my chest, sharp and cruel. Not just anyone—Ashly. Sweet, timid Ashly, who had never done anything but try to help, who flinched at shadows and apologized for breathing too loudly. She tried to warn me, protect me in her own way… I didn’t know why she left the note, but I’d broken her. For what? Knowledge? Truth? My hands trembled, the cuffs biting deeper into my wrists as I tried to move. What kind of monster does that make me?


    Garin was right. The admission seared through me like acid. He said I was just a lab rat, an experiment gone wrong. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat. And maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s all I am. Some twisted byproduct of my father’s ambition, his obsession with saving humanity.


    I shut my eyes tightly, willing the thoughts away, but they came rushing in like a flood. What the hell did he do to me? My father, with his steady hands and brilliant mind, always telling me I was special, that I was humanity’s hope. Was this what he meant? To turn me into something unrecognizable? Something capable of this?


    Or was this all me? What if it wasn’t the serum, the whispers, or the hunger? What if I’m just like this? Broken. Vicious. The thought turned my stomach, and I pressed my face against the cool floor, the weight of it pressing me down like a black hole. What if I was always like this?


    Wilks. His name clawed its way into my mind, sharp and unrelenting. What the hell happened to him? I clenched my fists, the cuffs digging into my wrists. He wasn’t just another experiment—he was a person. He was like me, another victim of my father’s ambitions. Just a pawn in a game none of us understood until it was too late.


    But unlike me, Wilks didn’t survive. He wasn’t “special.” He didn’t come out the other side as something even remotely human. What kind of life did he have before Lab 3? Did he trust my father? Did he trust Knight? Did he think, for even a moment, that he was going to be saved? My chest tightened as the thought burned through me.


    Was this what my father’s hope looked like? Was this the legacy he wanted to leave behind—monsters and victims, all stitched together by his genius?


    And it didn’t stop with him, did it? Knight, Garin... they picked up where he left off. They didn’t look at Wilks and see a tragedy—they saw an opportunity. They saw progress. My stomach churned. They’re the ones keeping this alive. My father might have started this nightmare, but it’s their hands pushing it forward.


    I pressed my forehead against the floor, the cold seeping into my skin. How many more Wilkses would there be? How many more lives would they twist and break, all in the name of hope? Phoenix. Hydra. Dragon. If these were the ones they admitted to, how many more were they hiding? The thought sank into me like a stone. As many as it takes.


    I glanced at Ashly, curled up and sobbing softly, holding her broken arm like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. Her tears glistened on her pale cheeks, each one a knife in my gut. She’s never going to trust me again. Hell, no one would. And they shouldn’t.


    For once, the whispers had nothing to say.


    And I couldn’t escape what I’d done.