Chapter 44
Lirael
"Blood serum? What kind?"
Shit. I had no idea—
The van's emergency alert started blaring. I'd hit the button accidentally. Red lights flashing, computerized voice announcing: "Medical emergency. Time-sensitive materials require immediate transport."
The guard swore, waving me through. "Go! Just get it there before it expires."
I hit the gas, heart hammering. Behind me, I could see him on his radio. I had maybe five minutes before someone figured out I'd faked it.
I drove three blocks, then turned off into side streets, deliberately losing myself in early morning traffic. The sun was rising, painting buildings gold and pink. I rolled down the window, tasting freedom for the first time in—
How long? Three years at Genesis. Two weeks with Sebastian. Ten years with the Hartfields. When was I ever actually free?
I couldn't remember.
Twenty minutes later I found the perfect spot—abandoned warehouse district, buildings skeletal and dark. I parked in an alley, wiped everything down, grabbed a coat to cover the uniform.
Then I pulled out the Holo-Skin chip and pressed it to my neck. My features shifted in the mirror: silver-grey eyes darkening to brown, hair shortening to mousy brown with cheap highlights. Freckles across my nose. Thinner lips, softer jaw.
I looked exactly like I'd programmed: a Lower District girl in her early twenties. The kind who disappeared into crowds and was forgotten.
I pulled out the lighter I'd stolen and set fire to the van's interior. Walked away as flames caught, just another anonymous figure in the morning streets.
I'm free. For now.
---
By 8 AM I was in the Lower District safe house—top floor of a building scheduled for demolition but never torn down. I'd set this up three years ago, back when I'd still believed I could build a real life.
The optimism felt naive now, but I was grateful for my younger self's paranoia.
Five minutes to get through the locks I'd designed, then I was inside. Stale air, dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, a mattress on the floor. And on the desk in the corner, covered in dust—
My old computer.
I crossed to it, hands shaking, and pressed the power button. For a long moment nothing happened. Then the screen flickered to life.
I nearly sobbed with relief.
The login screen appeared. I typed the password with fingers that remembered, and the desktop loaded—files, programs, encrypted communications from a lifetime ago.
Proof that I'd existed before Genesis. That I'd had plans and resources and a life.
I checked my financial accounts first. Still active. The cryptocurrency had grown. I had more than enough for whatever came next. The fake identities still passed verification. And the communication channels—
I logged into the encrypted messaging system and saw dozens of messages waiting. Most were old, from three years ago. But there were recent ones too.
From Ethan.
Moonlit Fish, if you're out there—I heard rumors you're back. I don't know what's going on, but I want to help. The old protocols still work. —E
And from this morning:
The research facility was hit again last night. Same signature as before. Whatever's happening, it's escalating. Please tell me you're safe. —E
Something cracked in my chest. Ethan had been looking for me. Worrying about me.
I typed: I'm safe. Need to handle some personal business, but I'm okay. Will contact you in 48 hours. —MF
Hit send, then pulled up another channel and messaged Damian:
I'm out. Need your help. Can we meet? —L
The response came almost immediately:
Thank God. I was starting to worry Sebastian had done something irreversible. Where are you? —D
I gave him a neutral meeting spot. Tomorrow, 10 AM.
And Damian—thank you. For everything at Black Reef. I wouldn't have made it out without you. —L
You would have found a way. You always do. See you tomorrow. —D
I logged out and stared at the window. I set the phone on the desk and turned to more immediate concerns. Food. Clean clothes. A plan for the Hartfields.
I pulled up a map and started plotting routes, marking cameras and security zones.
But I'd survived Genesis, escaped Black Reef, outsmarted Sebastian. I could handle whatever the Hartfields had planned.
I just had to be smarter, faster, more ruthless than they expected.
---
By 10 AM I was dressed in clean clothes from the safe house—dark jeans, hoodie, boots. Armed with everything I could find: knife at my ankle, pepper spray in my pocket, small EMP device I'd built years ago.
I left through the fire escape, dropping to the alley and blending into morning crowds. The Lower District was waking up—vendors, workers, children running despite the early hour.
It felt surreal to walk among them. No collar. No chain. I kept touching my throat, feeling the absence.
I was heading toward the commercial district when I saw the crowd ahead. News vans, cameras, reporters shouting questions.
And in the center—Victoria.
I stopped dead, then moved closer without deciding to, drawn by some terrible magnetism.
She looked immaculate. Hair perfectly styled in loose waves, makeup flawless, wearing an elegant cream-colored sheath dress with pearl accessories. Every inch the poised socialite doing damage control. Her parents flanked her, Mr. Hartfield projecting confidence, Mrs. Hartfield the picture of maternal support.
"Miss Hartfield, can you comment on the incident at the Blackwood charity gala several nights ago? Witnesses say you fell into the pool—"
"It was an unfortunate accident." Victoria's voice was smooth, practiced, with just a hint of embarrassment. "The terrace was wet from earlier rain. My heel caught and I lost my balance. These things happen."
"But some guests reported you were arguing with someone before the fall—"
"A minor misunderstanding, nothing more." She smiled, the expression perfectly calibrated. "I'm afraid people love to dramatize these events. It was simply a slip."
She's lying. She knows exactly what happened and she's rewriting the narrative.
I should've walked away. But something dark and vindictive in me wanted her to see me. Wanted her to know I was watching.
I moved closer, positioning myself where she'd look. And waited.
Less than a minute. Her eyes swept the crowd and locked onto mine. Even with the disguise, she knew me. Recognition flashed across her face—a momentary crack in the polished facade. Fear and hatred warred beneath the smile. Her hand tightened on her mother's arm.
But she didn't break. Didn't scream or point. Just held my gaze for three beats too long, that perfect smile frozen in place.
Then her father stepped forward, addressing reporters with practiced charm. "I'm afraid we need to wrap this up. My daughter has appointments this morning."
Mrs. Hartfield guided Victoria toward their car, movements unhurried, elegant. But as they passed close to where I stood, Victoria leaned toward her mother and whispered something urgent. Mrs. Hartfield's eyes cut to me, sharp and assessing.
The crowd began to disperse. I turned to leave—
"Excuse me, miss?"
Mrs. Hartfield had broken away, approaching with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I'm so sorry to bother you, but my daughter thought she recognized you. An old school friend, perhaps?"
"I don't think so," I said flatly.
She leaned closer, voice dropping. "We need to talk. Privately. About your situation."
"My situation?"
"Your past. Your real past." Her eyes glittered. "I know things about where you came from, what you are. Things you've been searching for your whole life."
My heart pounded but I kept my face neutral. "Why would you tell me?"
"Because we can help each other. You want answers. We want—well. Let's say we have mutual interests. Tomorrow night, 9 PM. Old dock warehouse district, building seven. Come alone and I'll tell you everything."
She pulled back, public smile snapping into place, then walked away to rejoin her family.
It's a trap. Obviously it's a trap.