The room was quiet, unnervingly so, the hum of machinery fading into the sterile stillness of the Med bay. For the first time in what felt like months, my mind was mine. No whispers. No haunting echoes of my father’s voice weaving through my thoughts. The silence should have been comforting. It wasn’t.
I sat on the exam table, the paper sheet crinkling under me as I shifted uncomfortably. My legs dangled over the edge, too short to touch the floor. The dim red glow in my left eye had dulled to a faint ember, barely noticeable in the reflective surface of the cabinets nearby. Even the hunger, my constant companion, was quieter now—muted to a whisper, no longer a gnawing, all-consuming force.
The gown they’d given me was all too familiar, the kind I wore more often than real clothes back in my father’s lab. Tests never stopped. Scans, needles, more scans—it was endless. Even now, it felt like I was right back there. At least they let me keep my underwear this time—small mercies. Tugging at the hem, I thought, Better than mooning the Med bay, I guess.
I felt unnatural. After having Phoenix in my blood for so long, its absence—or its quiet—felt foreign. The whispers were gone, and the hunger that had once clawed at my insides was muted, almost nonexistent. Even my teeth had returned to normal, their sharpness no longer an unsettling reminder of what I was becoming.
My body, though, was still a machine of demands—a storm of ceaseless energy and consumption, always needing, always taking. To feel it pause, even for a moment, was unsettling, like standing at the edge of a cliff, waiting for the ground to give way beneath me. I flexed my fingers, watching the faint blue veins beneath my skin shift. They seemed brighter, more fragile now, as though the virus was pulling them taut like strings, ready to snap. It’s holding back, I thought, but for how long?
The silence pressed in on me, thick and oppressive. I tried to focus on the room—the sterile white walls, the faintly antiseptic smell clinging to the air—but it offered no comfort. The monitor beside me beeped at steady intervals, my vitals laid bare in cold, clinical data. My heart rate, my temperature, my regenerative cell activity—they all said I was stable. Normal.
But I wasn’t.
The faint sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts. Dr. Yates stepped inside, the soft hiss of the door sealing behind her. Her presence was a small relief, breaking the suffocating stillness of the Med bay. She looked as tired as I felt, deep lines etched around her warm brown eyes, her black pressure suit visible beneath a slightly rumpled white lab coat.
“Morning, Sol,” she said, her voice low but soothing. “How’re you holding up?”
I forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Define ‘holding up.’”
She chuckled, pulling up a stool beside the console. “Still breathing. That counts for something.”
As she keyed in a few commands, the monitor shifted, showing a familiar array of scans. Cross-sections of my tissue, skeletal outlines, the faintly glowing strands of the virus snaking through my veins like molten threads. I had seen it all before, but it never stopped being unsettling.
“Anything feel different?” she asked, glancing at me.
“Yeah,” I said softly. “It’s quieter.”
Yates paused, her fingers hovering over the console. “Quieter?”
I nodded, hesitating as the words formed in my mind. “The hunger. The... noise in my—” I stopped, clamping my mouth shut before the rest slipped out. Not that. Not to her. Yates was the one who handled my mental health evaluations—the one who’d sat across from me in the aftermath of my last "snap", her tone calm but firm as she explained why breaking Ashly’s arm had been a warning sign. If I mentioned the whispers, they’d be all over my next assessment, and I couldn’t risk that.
I forced a quick pivot. “My stomach. It’s like everything just—stopped. Or maybe it’s back to normal. Honestly, I’m not sure I even remember what normal feels like anymore… not after being awake with it for nine months before I went rogue and Lion threw me in cryo.”
Her expression tightened, though she tried to hide it. “That’s... interesting.”
“Interesting,” I echoed bitterly. “Not exactly the word I’d use.”
She sighed, leaning back on the stool. “Your regenerative cycle has slowed. That might explain why everything feels... muted. Your body’s conserving energy.”
“Conserving for what?”
Yates didn’t answer immediately. She rubbed the back of her neck, her gaze drifting to the scans on the monitor. “Your cells are still active, just not at the rate they were. It’s not a bad thing, Sol. Stability is good.”
“Stability,” I muttered. The word felt hollow, meaningless. I flexed my hands, staring at the flawless skin—my body’s supposed perfection. Phoenix wasn’t gone, just... quieted. Suppressed, just as the inhibitors were meant to do. If only Knight hadn’t ambushed me with it, I would have taken it willingly. Probably.
Despite my small frame, I weighed three times what I should have. The virus had condensed the mass from all the cloned animals I’d consumed into my bones and muscles. On the surface, I looked lean and short—delicate even—but the density was deceptive. My strength surpassed that of any grown man, and my bones were stronger than anyone who hadn’t been augmented by cybernetics or genetic modification. My figure, with its exaggerated curves, was unnervingly perfect, like something sculpted rather than born. It felt alien, a strange shell I occupied but didn’t recognize. It didn’t feel like me.
I shifted on the exam table, my body still sore from cryo, my mind still reeling from the questioning earlier. Warren, Garin, Reid, and Vega had spent hours grilling me after I was pulled out. Reid had my back, but Vega and Garin were relentless, their questions sharp and probing. It hadn’t felt like a conversation—it was an interrogation, their voices dripping with suspicion and judgment. Warren, though regretful, seemed just as out of the loop as I was, his authority undercut by Lion’s machinations.
They wanted answers—answers I couldn’t fully give—about what had happened with the drones and why Lion had been forced to subdue me. Warren had reluctantly gone along with Lion’s story at the time; the Council had left him with no real choice. Even Reid, loyal as he was, had been at a loss to explain why I’d broken into my father’s room and destroyed the drones.
But I had given Garin and Vega even more fuel for their arguments that Knight’s and my research were too dangerous. Garin had seized the opportunity to argue that all work on Lab 3 should be shut down immediately, while Vega insisted I should be confined to Lab 3, just as Wilks had been before his death. Their words hung in the air during every discussion, heavy with suspicion and judgment, as though they were daring me to prove them wrong.
I’d played along with Lion’s bullshit narrative to protect them all, even though they could never know the truth—that I’d done it to save their lives. The official story painted me as out of control, driven by the virus’s rage and hunger. It claimed I had destroyed the drones in a fit of blind fury, leaving Lion no choice but to step in. He’d told them he had locked me in cryo until Dr. Knight’s inhibitor serum was ready to stabilize me and the virus.
The timing of it all was too neat, too convenient. The serum had been miraculously perfected just hours after Team A’s rotation began, marking one year since I had been pulled out of cryo for the first time and fifty-one years since Jericho launched.
It tied everything up with a neat little bow. Lion emerged as the hero to most of the crew, particularly Teams B and C, who didn’t know me well enough to question it. But Team A remained skeptical, their doubts hanging heavy in the air during the questioning. And I—just as Garin and Jimmy always said—came out looking like a ticking time bomb.
The inhibitor had worked, at least for now. It dampened the virus enough to let me think clearly, to reclaim some sense of control. But the lie left a bitter taste in my mouth, even as I nodded and played along for the sake of peace.
“Do you think I’ll go back to being the monster Garin thinks I am when the serum runs its course?” The words slipped out softer than I intended, like saying them too loud might make them real.
Yates’ expression tightened, a flicker of concern breaking through her professional calm. “You’re not a monster, Sol,” she said gently. “Garin’s fear says more about him than it does about you.”
I wanted to believe her, but the memories of what I’d done—the hunger, the rage, the blood—were too raw to ignore. “It doesn’t feel like fear when Vega’s pushing to lock me in Lab 3,” I muttered. “When half the crew seems ready to agree with her, it feels more like a verdict.”
Yates sighed, her gaze steady but tired. “Garin likes control, and Vega is cautious. The rest? They’re just scared, Sol. You’re something no one can pin down, and that terrifies them—especially when people like Lion walk around calling you ‘Highness.’” She paused, her tone softening. “But as for what’s happening to you... that’s more of a question for Knight. Most of the changes Phoenix has made aren’t something regular scans can even detect.”
I glanced at my reflection in the polished cabinet, my red eye faintly glowing back at me. My pale hair spilled around a face I barely recognized. “Sometimes it feels like I’m turning into something else,” I said quietly. “Something I don’t even understand.”
“You’re still you, Sol,” Yates said, placing a steady hand on my shoulder. “Whatever’s happening, that hasn’t changed.”
I nodded, but her words didn’t quite land. My gaze drifted to the glowing threads on the monitor, weaving a tapestry of what I’d become—and what I might still be turning into.
The door hissed open again, and for a moment, I thought it might be Warren or Vega returning with more questions. But no—it was him, the one person who could always make me feel just a little less like a science experiment.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Reid called out, his voice cutting through the sterile quiet. “You know, when I called you ‘Princess,’ I didn’t really mean you should go back into cryo before me.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it, surprising even myself. “Well,” I said, trying to match his lighthearted tone, “I was just trying to make a dramatic exit. What can I say? I like to keep you on your toes.”
Reid grinned, stepping closer. “You’re lucky I like drama. So, Doc,” he said, gesturing at me with an exaggerated flourish, “what did Knight whip up for her? Because I swear those aren’t the same proportions she went into cryo with.” His grin widened, and he added with a wink, “Not complaining—just, you know, asking for science.”
I tugged at the hem of the thin medical gown, heat rising to my cheeks as I glanced down. “Reid, here’s a free tip: maybe don’t flirt with someone wearing less fabric than a napkin.”
He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re right. Flowers first. My mistake.”
Yates sighed, giving him a pointed look. “She gave Sol an inhibitor,” she said evenly, brushing off his antics. “It’s meant to suppress the virus and stabilize her condition.”
I rolled my eyes, leaning back slightly as I tried to ignore the cool air brushing my legs. “Reid, if you’ve got any actual scientific questions, I’m sure those two brain cells of yours can team up with your wandering eyes and figure it out.”
He chuckled, placing his hands over his chest in mock offense. “Ouch, Princess. You really know how to bruise your knight’s ego.”
“Oh, please,” I shot back, my tone light as a faint grin tugged at my lips. “You’re closer to a court jester than a knight.”
Reid turned to me again, his teasing smirk softening into something warmer, more sincere. “Alright, enough jokes,” he said, his voice quieter now. “How’re you holding up, Princess? Back to your usual badass self?”
I forced a smile, keeping my tone light despite the weight pressing down on me. “Like I said at the interrogation,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant, “the inhibitor helps me control Phoenix. It’s the first step to figuring out how the virus can bond to others without, you know, killing them.” I let my lips curl into a faint grin as I added, “I’d like to keep you around for a while, after all.”
I winked at him, but the words felt heavier than I intended, the unease slipping into my voice despite my best efforts. Reid blinked, the teasing edge softening as his gaze lingered on me, searching for something unspoken, before smirking. “Well, damn. If I’d known you cared that much, I might’ve tried harder to impress you.”
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I laughed, the sound hollow but convincing enough to fool him. What I didn’t say—what I couldn’t say—was that Lion would kill Reid in an instant if he knew the truth. My father’s shadow loomed over everything, always watching, always calculating.
As if to remind me, a Jericho drone drifted silently into the room, its single eye glowing faintly as it hovered near the ceiling. My stomach tightened, the air colder despite Reid’s warm presence.
In the background, Reid and Yates exchanged words—something about the inhibitor, or maybe a joke. Their voices blurred, distant against the rising noise in my head. What if they knew? If Reid knew the truth, would he still look at me like that? Would Yates still defend me if she saw the full picture?
“You okay, Sol?” Reid asked, his tone softening as he caught the shift in my expression.
“Yeah,” I said quickly, pasting on a smile that I hoped was convincing. “Just tired. It’s been a long… however long it’s been.”
He nodded, his grin returning. “Yeah, well, I’m not letting you duck out on me again. No more dramatic cryo exits, you hear me? I’d never forgive myself if I let you tell me to fuck off and steal my booze again. Look what happened last time—you got drunk and broke into your dad’s room.”
I managed a chuckle, though it felt more reflex than real. His attempt at levity helped, but the drone’s presence still lingered in my peripheral vision, a weight I couldn’t shake.
Reid’s grin softened, his usual bravado giving way to something quieter. “Seriously, Sol. Don’t scare me like that again.”
“Deal,” I murmured, the word carrying more layers than I meant it to.
He hesitated for a moment longer, his emerald eyes searching mine behind his sunglasses, their reflection catching the faint glow of my mismatched red and blue eyes. As he lowered the shades slightly, I caught a clearer glimpse of that vivid green, warm and steady, as though trying to peel back the walls I’d built.
“Well, see you around, Princess,” he said with a soft grin, his voice lighter than the moment felt. Then, with a casual wave of his cybernetic hand, he turned and headed for the door. The moment it slid shut behind him, the Med bay felt colder, emptier. The quiet rushed back in, pressing down on me like a second skin.
The drone disappeared, leaving the room oppressively quiet. I slipped off the exam table, the cool floor biting at my bare feet. “I’ll check in later,” I mumbled, avoiding Yates’ gaze as she worked. She didn’t press—she rarely did. But her silence felt heavier than usual, as though she could see the weight of the secrets I carried.
The Med bay door hissed shut behind me, the sterile chill giving way to the sprawling, dimly lit corridors of Jericho. The ship felt cavernous and unnervingly empty, a stark reminder of how small our active crew was. Team A—Warren, Vega, Ashly, Garin, Reid, Yates, Holt, Jimmy, and myself—was all that remained awake, along with Dr. Knight from Team B. The other captains and their teams remained in cryo, leaving Warren as the senior authority aboard.
Vega, ever calm and tactical, carried much of the burden alongside Warren. Garin and Ashly buried themselves in their projects, retreating from the growing strain. Knight remained fixated on her secretive work in Lab 3, while Reid’s forced humor barely masked the tension gripping us all. Holt and Jimmy kept their distance, watching from the sidelines but offering little beyond wary glances. Yates, the true neutral party, worked quietly to keep the peace, her steady presence a fragile thread holding us together.
The corridors felt endless, mirroring how stretched thin we all were. Tension simmered, driven by Knight and me, but amplified by the looming threat of Lion’s next move. His decision to bypass the captains and wake me first, using his emergency authority, reminded everyone of his dominance and readiness to act.
Since then, the captains had grown wary. Garin’s cybernetic upgrades kept them connected, allowing them to monitor crew actions even in cryo. It was a safeguard against Warren and a silent warning to the rest of us: any misstep with Phoenix, and they’d wake to intervene.
Knight and I continued our work in Lab 3. She had shifted much of the heavy lifting onto me, her sharp tone making it clear she considered me less of a partner and more of an underling. Questions were met with clipped, impatient responses, and hesitation earned me one of her scathing remarks. Working with her was an endurance test, a daily exercise in biting my tongue to keep the peace. For all her brilliance, she was still a monumental pain in the ass.
The nightmares came less often now—once or twice a week instead of every night—but when they did, they left me shaken and raw, clawing for control. Twisted memories of my father’s lab, the screams of the infected, and flashes of yellow eyes haunted my sleep, their presence lingering even as I woke. Knight’s presence didn’t help. Every sharp word, every dismissive glare grated on my nerves, reminding me of just how much I hated her. She was cold, calculating, and as insufferable as she was intelligent. If it weren’t for the weight of the work we had to finish, I might have shoved her out an airlock.
On paper, the inhibitor was a success. It kept Phoenix in check, dulled its sharp edges enough to appease the captains—for now. Warren and Vega both knew the accelerant existed, but they didn’t understand what it was truly for. Officially, it was framed as a contingency, a tool to stabilize Phoenix in more volatile hosts. In reality, it was the linchpin of Project Chimera, the key to unlocking the virus’s full potential—a truth Knight and I kept tightly locked away.
Progress on the accelerant was deliberately vague. We offered just enough updates to satisfy the captains, careful not to reveal the true scope of our work. Knight handled the more sensitive testing in secret, encrypting her results so thoroughly I could only access what she allowed. To the rest of the crew, we were making cautious, steady progress. But in the cold, quiet confines of Lab 3, the real work unfolded, dragging us closer to the moment when lies would no longer suffice.
I played my part, letting Knight handle the captains while I became the data point she paraded around. Scans, blood draws, and observations—all proof that the inhibitor was working. “The virus is stabilizing,” she’d say. “Sol is stable.” But Knight didn’t hear the whispers at night. She didn’t hear my father’s voice, dulled but ever-present, weaving through the edges of my thoughts.
The inhibitor dulled Phoenix, I’d give her that. The hunger that once consumed me was now a faint hum, quiet enough that I couldn’t bring myself to eat a living animal anymore. Knight noted it clinically during one of our sessions. “Another sign of progress,” she remarked, as if my aversion to ripping flesh from bone were a lab result. I hadn’t told her about the whispers. About how they still lingered in the quiet moments, haunting and relentless.
Some nights, I’d find myself in the storage bay where the animals were kept, my hands trembling as I reached for the lock. The whispers stirred in those moments, soft but insistent, encouraging me to give in. My father’s voice, coaxing and cruel, wove through my thoughts. They’re just animals. You need this. You’re stronger because of it.
But the clarity the inhibitor brought made those whispers all the more horrifying. I’d stare at my hands, trembling not from hunger but from the realization of how far I’d fallen. The madness was dimmed, and in its place was the stark, unfiltered truth of what I was becoming. Every time, I would step back, retreating to the empty corridors with shaking limbs and a racing heart.
The hunger was dulled but never gone, and now, with my mind clear, I couldn’t deny how alien it made me feel—how far I’d already drifted from what I once was.
The lab became my world, its cold walls and sterile light a prison I couldn’t escape. Knight watched me closely, her calculating gaze a constant weight. Warren and Vega stopped by occasionally, their questions pointed, their eyes wary. Ashly and Garin rarely came by anymore, preferring to bury themselves in their own work. Observation and testing were all that remained for the inhibitor, tasks Knight could handle without much input.
But the quiet came at a cost. Without constant oversight, Knight could push the accelerant forward, inching closer to her hidden agenda. And I... I was left alone with the whispers. They were a reminder of my father’s shadow, of the monster lurking beneath my skin. Phoenix was quiet now, suppressed by the inhibitor, but it wasn’t gone. It was waiting. And deep down, I knew I was, too.
The virus was evolving with each iteration, adapting with frightening efficiency. Knight’s inhibitors tempered its aggression, but this was the third injection, and it was already less effective then the first. The whispers stirred faintly, and the hunger clawed at me, restrained but growing.
“Stability,” Knight said one evening, her voice sharp as she reviewed the glowing strands of data on the monitor. “That’s what matters. If we can control the mutations without compromising regeneration, we’ll have something viable for a new host.”
I didn’t respond, my focus fixed on the virus displayed on the screen. Each glowing thread felt like a fragment of my father’s shadow, stretching over everything—over me. Progress was progress, but every step forward felt like tightening a noose around my neck.
Knight’s confidence grew with each small success, but I couldn’t share it. The results were promising on paper, sure. In reality, the virus was still dangerous, still unpredictable. And I was its unwilling prototype. Still, I pushed forward, clinging to the faint hope that understanding Phoenix might one day mean reclaiming myself.
By the third week, Knight called our results “promising.” The virus, she said, could theoretically bond to another host without killing them outright. In theory. But theories and realities rarely aligned when it came to Phoenix. Knight’s enthusiasm grated on me, her vision of success tethered too tightly to my father’s ambitions.
I wanted answers—about the virus, my father, and myself. But every new discovery only seemed to deepen the questions and the weight of everything I still didn’t understand.
One evening, as we reviewed the latest data, Knight broke the silence, her tone sharp with determination. “We’re close,” she said, tapping a glowing strand of data on the screen. “It’s almost time to test the accelerant. We’ll need Lion and a few guards present—just in case.”
My stomach twisted, a chill running down my spine. “Afraid I’ll turn into another Wilks?” I asked quietly. The thought of testing the accelerant terrified me. It felt like opening a door that couldn’t be closed, and deep down, I knew what lay on the other side. It was far too easy to become a monster.
Knight’s gaze flicked to me, her expression unreadable. “We won’t have a choice soon, Sol. You know that.” She hesitated just long enough for the threat to land. “And if you don’t cooperate, well... you know what’ll happen to Reid.”
Anger flared hot and fast, my voice low and sharp. “If you so much as touch him, claws or not, I’ll kill you.”
For a moment, her composure faltered, but the cruel smirk that followed made it clear she had the upper hand. “You might be able to kill me,” Knight said, her voice low and razor-sharp, “but Lion? He wouldn’t waste the effort. He wouldn’t hurt you—he’d just lock you in a lab until the work was done, no matter how long it took. Immortality is a curse when you’re at his mercy, isn’t it?”
She leaned closer, her gaze cold and calculating. “Maybe it’s a good thing your father doesn’t understand just how pathetic you really are. Can you imagine? All his work, all his sacrifices… for this?” She gestured to me with a dismissive wave, her words cutting deeper than any blade. “But don’t worry, Sol. It’s in my best interest to keep you alive. After all, you’re too valuable to waste, even if you’re a disappointment.”
She was right, and we both knew it. Damn it, she was right about everything. The captains were growing restless, and the fragile peace the inhibitor had provided was slipping through my fingers.
I stared at the monitor, its screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Lines of data scrolled past, a detailed breakdown of what Phoenix had become. My father’s creation. Knight’s ambition. My curse. The virus seemed alive even in numbers and graphs, its evolution curling and twisting like it was trying to tell me something I couldn’t quite grasp. And through it all, I felt them—the yellow eyes, always watching. Waiting. Just like Jericho.
The Hemlock haunted me—those grotesque creatures that had once been human. Twisted forms born of desperation and failure. Warnings of what Phoenix could become. Would Knight and I lead us down the same path? Would the accelerant turn us into monsters, too? The thought clawed at me, its weight suffocating.
Yet, without Phoenix, none of us would make it to Haven. A century still stretched ahead—a century too long for these fragile human bodies aboard. Even with cryo and extended lifespans, the captains were already showing the wear of time. Phoenix wasn’t just survival for me; it was survival for all of us. But at what cost?
Nearly a thousand souls slept in cryo aboard Jericho—the best and brightest Earth could offer, or just those rich enough to buy their way onto humanity’s last hope. They were supposed to be the future, waiting to reach Haven and restart civilization alongside whatever might still exist there—if there was anything left at all. All we really know for sure is that Haven is habitable. At least, that’s what we’ve been told.
Officially, the mission was simple: deliver them—and Jericho’s fusion core—to the colony. But the truth wasn’t so clean-cut, and only a handful of us knew it. Captain Warren, the other captains, Lion, Knight… and me.
Dragon.
The black hole at the heart of Jericho’s fusion core wasn’t just cutting-edge tech. It’s a ticking bomb. A risk so monumental it could either save us all or destroy everything in the blink of an eye.
And the only thing that rivaled Dragon in its potential to be both savior and threat was Phoenix. The virus. The thing that lives inside me.
My reflection in the polished surface of the monitor caught my eye. The faint red glow of my left iris, the smoothness of my skin, the quiet hum of hunger lurking beneath it all. Phoenix isn’t just inside me—it’s me.
Dad, what the hell were you thinking?
The whispers stirred faintly at the edges of my mind, their presence a quiet, insistent hum. You need this. You can’t fight it forever. Give in. I shook my head, swallowing hard, but the hunger lingered, waiting for its chance.
Tomorrow, the tests would begin. The accelerant would push us forward, but it would also shatter the fragile balance the inhibitor had brought. The whispers will grow louder. The hunger will return. And then what? Will I rip through flesh and blood again? Will I still be able to stop?
I miss you, Daddy. The thought clung to me, heavy and unshakable. Despite everything, I miss you so much. Your voice, your promises—they’re all I have left, and even those are slipping away.
He used to promise me the world—and deliver. But it wasn’t just the world, was it? No, he promised me the stars themselves, pulling them from the heavens with that brilliant mind of his. And he delivered. Every time.
But this... this thing. Is it really you? Or just what’s left of you?
The sound of Knight’s voice broke through my thoughts, sharp and cold. “You’re wasting time,” she said, not even looking up from her console. “If you’d focus for five seconds, maybe we’d get somewhere.”
I ignored her, shutting off the monitor with a flick of my fingers. As I stepped toward the corridor, I shoved a drone out of my way, its hum fading as I walked past.
I thought of my father, of those yellow eyes that haunted my dreams, lingering as I approached the door. The memory clung to me like a shadow, heavy and unshakable. Then I heard it—a faint scraping sound from above, barely audible over the hum of the ship. My steps faltered, my breath catching in my throat.
I glanced up.
There they were—real this time. Glowing faintly in the vent above, the eyes shifted, watching me with a chilling stillness that felt more deliberate than animal. The faint scrape came again, metal against metal, as though whatever was up there wanted me to know it was watching. My pulse quickened, the cold air of the corridor biting at my skin as I forced myself to move.
Don’t stop. Don’t look back.
My pace quickened, but the weight of those eyes followed me, the memory now alive and crawling beneath my skin. Just like Jericho—always watching, always waiting.
Just like Jericho, always watching, always waiting.
I left the lab, the sterile hum of its equipment giving way to the quiet emptiness of the corridor. Knight muttered something behind me, her words dripping with disdain, but I didn’t care. The cold air of the ship pressed against my skin, and I felt the weight of everything settle onto my shoulders. Alone again. I hated how alone I felt. But isn’t that better? If I’m alone, at least I can’t hurt anyone. Not yet.
Still, a part of me wondered... if this could bring him back, would that be so terrible?