It started with one sentence. Familiar. Too familiar. Spoken with her cadence, her softness. Her words — but not her voice. And from there, nothing sounded right again.
Tessa Rye had always believed in people.
That didn't mean she trusted easily. She was careful, trained, observant. But beneath all the data pads, therapy modules, and carefully-coded handbooks, she held a quiet conviction: people wanted to do the right thing — even if they didn't know how.
It was why she healed.
Why she'd joined the Academy, despite knowing what it cost her family.
Why she believed Rook Vale wasn't a lost cause.
But tonight?
Tonight she wasn't sure she knew who she believed in anymore.
She found Ava on the rooftop just past midnight.
The upper-level dorms were silent — most students asleep, a few snoring, some still running last-minute drills or surfing holo-feeds. The air was cold, the wind dry, carrying the scent of sterilized concrete and ozone from the training towers nearby.
Ava Spire stood near the ledge, leaning forward slightly, her ponytail whipping behind her like a flag. She didn't look surprised when Tessa stepped onto the rooftop.
In fact, she smiled.
"You couldn't sleep either, huh?" Ava asked.
Tessa walked forward slowly. "Something like that."
"You know, it's weird," Ava said. "When I can't sleep, I like to imagine walking through old memories. Not big moments. Just the small, dumb ones. Like… the smell of my dad's cologne when he left for patrol. Or that horrible snack shop in District 2 with the purple candies that made my tongue numb for hours."
Tessa froze halfway across the roof.
"…What did you just say?"
Ava turned. "The candy?"
Tessa blinked. "My father wore that cologne. Exactly that. 'Ironmist'—old brand, discontinued after the Concord chemical recall."
Ava tilted her head. "No way. Small world."
Tessa's stomach shifted, nausea curling in from under her ribs.
"I've never told anyone about the candy shop," she said.
Ava smiled wider. "Then I guess we're just the same kind of nostalgic."
There it was again.
That cadence.
That timing.
The words came out of Ava's mouth like they were rehearsed, and Tessa had heard them before — not aloud, but in her own head.
Ava wasn't talking like her.
She was talking as her.
Tessa didn't step forward. She stepped back. Just one pace.
Ava didn't seem to notice.
Or maybe she did — and pretended not to.
"You know," Ava said, turning toward the ledge, "I was thinking about Rook."
There it was.
The hook.
Tessa's throat closed.
"What about him?" she managed.
"He's… something else," Ava said. "Dark. Sharp. Hurting. But he walks like gravity bends around him, doesn't he? Like the rest of us are just decorations."
Tessa blinked. "That's a very specific observation."
"I just notice things," Ava said with a soft shrug. "Like the way he always laces his boots counterclockwise. Or how he touches his temple when he's calculating something too fast for words. Or how his voice dips right before he lies."
Tessa stared.
Her pulse was going too fast now. Not panic. Not fear.
Something colder.
She opened her mouth. Then stopped.
Because Ava hadn't broken eye contact in over a minute.
"I should go," Tessa said.
Ava didn't move.
"You're scared of me."
Tessa blinked.
Ava took a slow, deliberate step forward.
"Why?"
"I never said I was scared."
"You didn't have to. I feel it. We're so similar, remember?"
Tessa's voice was steel now. "You don't know me."
"I know what you're afraid of."
"Do you?"
Ava stepped closer.
"Not knowing who's telling the truth."
Tessa turned and walked fast. She didn't run. She wouldn't give Ava the satisfaction.
But inside, the walls were cracking.
Scene: Medical Archives – Two Hours Later
Tessa sat in the restricted data lab, lights off, screen dimmed to a whisper-glow.
She'd dug deeper into Ava's file.
Too perfect.Clean transfer. No history before age 15. No parents listed. No school logs.
Her references were digital scans — not physical documentation. Her medical files were encrypted with a Zodiac-level code.
Students didn't get that kind of clearance.
Only tools did.
Scene: Dorm 103 – Same Night
Rook returned just past 4:00 a.m.
He hadn't slept. Aya could tell.
She sat on his bed, legs crossed, running field exercises on a side terminal.
"You're early," she said.
"I'm done."
"Define done."
"I gave them what they needed."
"Proof?"
"She panicked."
Aya leaned forward. "What's the next move?"
Rook dropped a file on the desk.
Ava's face on the cover.
"Extraction."
Scene: Tessa's Dorm – Dawn
Tessa stared into the mirror.
Her own face.
But now she wasn't sure where the mask ended.
She whispered something — just to hear herself.
Just to confirm the voice belonged to her.
But she couldn't remember what she'd just said five seconds after saying it.
Because somewhere inside her head, Ava's voice was still echoing.
"We're so similar."
"I feel it."
"We're the same kind of nostalgic."
Tessa locked the door.
Then sent one message.
TO: ROOK VALESUBJECT: URGENT"We need to talk. Alone."