She awoke to the sound of tires crunching gravel.
Adelina blinked against the light pouring through the tinted window of the car. Her head throbbed. Her wrists itched with bruises where Viktor had grabbed her, though the syringe had never reached her skin. She'd fought—harder than she thought she could. Then Nathan appeared. There'd been shouting, fists, and in the end, a narrow escape.
Now they were driving. Somewhere far from the Blackstone Estate.
She sat curled in the backseat, wrapped in a soft blanket Nathan had thrown around her. In the front, he gripped the wheel with white knuckles, eyes fixed ahead. He hadn't spoken since they left.
The silence between them wasn't empty. It was thick—coated in things unsaid, questions unfinished, truths too heavy to name.
She turned her face toward the window. Trees blurred past in a mist of green and gold. Mountains loomed ahead, still distant, but growing.
"How far are we going?" she asked, her voice raw.
Nathan didn't look back. "Far enough that no one can follow."
She wanted to trust him. She almost did. But the memory of Viktor, the weight of that warning from Elena, clung to her like a second skin.
They arrived just before dusk.
The mountain estate was carved into the slope like it had grown there—glass and wood, steel beams hidden beneath a shell of natural beauty. Pines lined the perimeter, and a lake shimmered below like a silver coin lost in the earth.
Adelina stepped out slowly, the wind cool against her cheeks. The air smelled of pine needles, damp stone, and something clean. Real.
Nathan didn't speak. He just watched her as she took it in.
"This place belonged to your mother," he said finally. "She used to bring you here when you were very young. Before everything changed."
Adelina turned to him, surprised. "Before what changed?"
He didn't answer. Not yet.
Inside, the estate was silent. Not in a dead way, but like a held breath. Wooden beams lined the ceiling, and large windows framed the mountain range like artwork. A fire crackled quietly in the hearth. Everything looked untouched by time.
Adelina sat down at the edge of a leather couch. Nathan poured her a glass of water, then one for himself. He didn't drink.
"I told you I'd give you the truth," he said.
She looked up sharply. "Then start talking."
He nodded slowly, then sat across from her.
"There was a girl," he began. "Your twin. Her name was Arielle."
The name hit her like a slap.
"She died when you were six. A seizure. Sudden, violent. The doctors said it was neurological, but the truth is… she was part of the same program. The first attempt. You were the second."
Adelina felt her breath hitch. "A twin?"
Nathan nodded. "You don't remember her because they wiped the memories. All of them. Not just hers—but everything tied to that part of your life."
She stood. "Why? Why would they do that?"
Nathan looked up at her, guilt pooling in his eyes. "Because you were breaking. Fragmenting. The loss triggered something in your mind—something they hadn't predicted. You were unstable, dangerous even. They made the choice to start over. To rebuild you. That's what 'Project Obelisk' was really about."
She staggered back.
"So my entire life… it was a rewrite?"
"Not all of it. But enough to make you someone they could control. Someone who wouldn't ask the wrong questions."
Adelina turned away. The fire's warmth couldn't touch the cold in her chest.
She wandered through the house that evening, restless, her skin buzzing with memory. She barely touched her dinner. Nathan gave her space.
Flashbacks came like lightning—short, sharp, senseless.
A red sweater. A girl with the same eyes. Laughter in the snow. Screams in a white room. Darkness. A lullaby cut short.
She leaned against the bathroom sink, panting. Her reflection looked foreign. Like a borrowed face.
She splashed water on her skin.
She needed air.
It was almost midnight when she found the hallway.
She hadn't meant to. The estate was large, winding, and unfamiliar. But something pulled at her—some half-formed instinct. She followed it.
The hallway was behind a bookshelf, triggered by a loose panel she stumbled on while brushing her hand across the wood. The wall slid open.
A narrow corridor stretched out, dimly lit.
At the end, a door. Heavy. Wooden. Locked.
She touched it. It clicked open.
The room inside was frozen in time.
Small shoes by the bed. A shelf of children's books. A teddy bear worn at the seams. A name carved into the wooden desk in messy letters:
Arielle.
Adelina stepped inside.
The air was stale. But the memories weren't.
She saw it all. The twin who laughed louder. Who ran faster. Who always sang off-key. She saw her hand reaching out for someone who never came back.
A picture frame sat on the bedside table. She picked it up.
Two girls. Identical. Smiling.
A shadow moved in the doorway.
Nathan.
"You weren't supposed to find this," he said softly.
Adelina turned to him, eyes burning. "So what were you going to show me tomorrow? Sanitized truths? Edited memories?"
He stepped inside. "I was going to show you the logs. The ones that prove what they did. But not this. This room was hidden for a reason."
She held the photo up. "Because she died? Or because you were afraid I'd remember her better than I remember myself?"
Nathan looked stricken.
"She was everything you were supposed to be," he said quietly. "But you… you became more."
Adelina's voice cracked. "More what?"
"More human. More alive. And they hated that."
She turned away.
Behind her, he said the words like a confession:
"You were the weapon they couldn't control. That's why they erased you. Not to protect you. To protect themselves."
Adelina gripped the edge of the desk. The truth had weight.
And it was crushing her.
She didn't sleep. She sat in Arielle's room for hours, tracing every object, every thread of memory.
As the first light of dawn bled through the clouds, she opened the drawer under the desk.
Files. Handwritten notes. Photos.
And one folder marked in red ink:
Override: A.EXT.0
She opened it.
Inside: a schematic of a neural interface, notes in Elena's handwriting, and a list of emotional triggers. Next to one word was a star:
"Betrayal."
And under that, in Nathan's handwriting:
"If activated: initiate failsafe. Terminate host."
A chill ran down her spine.
She stood slowly, the folder clutched in her hands.
Nathan had lied again.
And now she knew exactly what part of her they were all afraid of.
She turned toward the hallway—
And heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
More than one set.
Too heavy to be Nathan.
She backed away.
The door burst open—
Black suits. Guns raised.
"Subject located," a voice said into a comm.
Adelina froze.