193

193


Eira's pov

I didn’t know what to eat.

Everything on the safehouse shelf tasted like cardboard, and my stomach twisted at the thought of food. The fridge buzzed louder than my thoughts. I stood there for what felt like an hour, hand on the door, staring at a half-eaten cup of yogurt, stale bread, and some canned beans that looked like they belonged in a war bunker.

Maybe I was in a war. Maybe I’d never left one.

Eventually, I gave up and poured a glass of water, sipping slowly as if it might fill the hollow ache in me. I padded back to the worn-out couch, pulling the scratchy blanket around my shoulders. The silence was heavier than the cold. The only thing louder than the buzzing fridge was the sound of my heartbeat, and even that felt borrowed. Fake.

I lay down, curled into myself, my hand resting on the soft rise of my belly.

I didn’t want to sleep, but exhaustion won.

And then Hazel showed up.

“Still hiding like a scared bunny,” she sneered, standing at the foot of my dream with her arms crossed. Her voice was shrill...too sharp for a memory, too cruel for a hallucination.

“I’m not hiding,” I whispered.

“Oh, please. You’re always hiding. Behind Draven, behind fake names, behind your trauma, like it’s some kind of badge.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t choose any of this.”

Hazel laughed. “Yeah, and I didn’t choose to die, either. But here we are.”

I tried to move, but my feet were stuck in place, like the floor had swallowed me. My chest ached, panic rising.

“You think naming the baby after a bitch makes up for it? You think crying at night makes you a mother?” Hazel spat, circling me like a vulture. “You couldn’t even save yourself, Eira.”

“Stop it,” I pleaded.

“Look at yourself,” she snapped.

And suddenly, I did.

The dream shifted. I wasn’t standing anymore, I was floating, spinning, and then face-to-face with my reflection in a mirror that hadn’t existed a second ago.

But it wasn’t the face I remembered.

This wasn’t the girl Snow created. It wasn’t the plastic-perfect, reprogrammed puppet they used to play dress-up. This was… me.

My real face.

Scar under my chin. Freckles I forgot I had. Hair growing out its natural shade, not the icy dye job I’d been forced to wear. My eyes—God, they were mine. Not Snow’s. Not a mask. Me. Only difference was the marks were gone.

And I broke.

I collapsed to my knees, the mirror fading, Hazel fading, the dream crumbling into ash. I fell through it, screaming.

I woke up with my face drenched in tears and my whole body shaking. My sobs were the kind that clawed out of your throat like they’d been buried for years. Ugly, violent, gut-wrenching.

I pressed my hand to my belly, and that’s when I felt it.

A soft kick.

A flutter. Like a whisper from the inside.

The first movement.

It wasn’t just a baby anymore. It was real. It was alive.

I cupped both hands around my stomach, my tears falling faster. “I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry.”

I wasn’t just crying for me.

I cried for every girl I couldn’t save. For every memory Snow stole. For Hazel. For the child inside me who never asked for this world, this pain, this history etched in blood and fire.

But most of all… I cried for the mother I had to become.

“I won’t let this world break you,” I whispered, kissing my palm and pressing it to my belly. “I won’t pass this pain to you. I won’t let them write your story like they did mine.”

I remembered everything now.

The lab.

The surgeries.

My real parents, not the ones who raised me, but the ones who experimented on me. Who sold me out to Snow in exchange for power, prestige, or maybe just because they could. They didn’t just kidnap me. They erased me. Took my name. Gave me a number. Programmed me like a weapon.

I was never supposed to wake up from that life.

But I had.

And now, because of this life growing inside me, I had to fight harder than ever to stay awake.

The pain didn’t go away with memory. No. If anything, it burned more. It scorched every inch of my insides, made every breath a struggle. But now that I knew the truth, I could stop fearing it.

I stood up from the couch, my knees trembling. I walked barefoot to the window, the cold glass pressing against my fingertips. The city lights flickered below. Somewhere out there, Draven was hunting. I knew it. I could feel him in my bones. The same way I once hated him for watching me… now I found some sliver of comfort in it.

He would follow the names. He’d follow the blood trail. And if he survived it, maybe, just maybe, he’d find his way back to me.

But I couldn’t afford to wait.

I wiped my face with the sleeve of my hoodie and grabbed the notebook from the counter. I flipped past the list of victims I’d given him. On a fresh page, I began a new one. Not of vengeance.

Of survival.

Things I would teach this child. Truths. Love. Warnings. Strength.

Because I may have been made in a lab, but this baby, this baby was made in fire.

Born of everything they couldn’t kill in me.

It all rushed back at once...like glass shattering inside my chest. Their faces, the syringes, the knife slicing into my skin, Snow laughing in my voice.

And then, just as I clutched my stomach, feeling that soft little kick again…

I saw her.

Me.

Not the ghost they turned me into, not the lie they planted, but my real self.

Brown eyes with gold flakes. A scar under my lip I used to hate. The mole on my jaw. I looked like a girl who survived hell and came out spitting.

I woke up crying, chest heaving, fists clutching the sheets. The sobs wouldn’t stop.

“I remember…” I whispered, voice cracked.

And I didn’t know if I was crying from rage, grief… or finally, relief.

But I knew one thing now.

I would never let them take me again.