The safehouse nestled in the abandoned outskirts of Sector V was nothing more than a cracked bunker beneath a forgotten farmhouse, but it had served them well for months. No signals came in or out. No drones flew overhead. No one came here unless they were invited—and even then, they came carefully.
But as Aurora stepped inside carrying Isla, her gut twisted with unease. Something felt… wrong.
Xander trailed in behind her, setting Elijah gently down on the makeshift cot. The older man groaned but waved them off. "I'll live," he rasped. "Give me ten minutes and a whiskey."
"We're out of whiskey," Aurora muttered.
"Then give me death."
She allowed herself the faintest smirk before turning to Xander. "Secure the door. And sweep for any changes. If anyone came through this place while we were out, I want to know."
Xander nodded and disappeared into the shadows with a silent efficiency that always reminded her of who he used to be—a soldier carved from bone and instinct, sharper than steel.
Aurora turned to Isla, kneeling to her level. The girl had been quiet since the incident.
"Baby, are you okay?"
Isla nodded, but her eyes betrayed her. Wide, haunted, too old for her seven years.
"Did I do something bad?" she whispered.
"No," Aurora said firmly. "You protected us. You did what you had to."
"But the man… he stopped breathing. I didn't even touch him."
Aurora's heart ached, but she kept her voice steady. "Sometimes power does things we don't understand. But you're not alone in this, okay? I'm right here. Always."
Isla looked away, small lips trembling. "I heard someone's voice in my head. A woman. She told me to push."
Aurora froze.
"…A voice?"
Isla nodded. "It wasn't mine. It was like… she was inside me. And she sounded sad."
Aurora stood slowly. "Stay here with Uncle Eli, okay?"
She walked to the back corridor, where Xander was crouched near the floor. His hand hovered above a faint smear of mud near the storage hatch.
"This wasn't here when we left," he said quietly.
Aurora's jaw clenched. "Someone's been inside."
Xander moved swiftly, checking the cache of supplies. Nothing stolen. Nothing moved. Almost nothing.
Except—
He held up a small data rod. It wasn't theirs.
Aurora took it, slotting it into the handheld decrypter. A single file flickered to life: a location marker. And a phrase:
"Asset confirmed. Retrieval active. Expect contact in 48 hours."
She felt cold flood her limbs.
Someone in their network had not only betrayed them—but was planning to extract Isla again. The facility hadn't just found them by luck. This was an inside job.
"Who had access to our last drop point?" she asked.
Xander didn't answer immediately.
She turned to him sharply. "Xander."
"There's only one name."
Aurora felt the breath leave her lungs.
"Wren," she said.
Their tech contact. The quiet engineer who built the signal-jammers, managed their fake IDs, scrubbed surveillance feeds. She was the one person outside this core team they had ever trusted.
Aurora wanted to believe it was impossible.
But the data didn't lie.
"She gave us this safehouse," Aurora whispered. "She gave us the route."
Xander nodded grimly. "And she knew about the convoy."
Aurora's hands curled into fists. "I'll kill her myself."
But before Xander could respond, a faint knock echoed through the hidden back door. Three short taps. A pause. Two long ones.
The code.
Aurora and Xander exchanged looks.
"She's early," he said.
Aurora pulled her pistol. "Too early."
She slid to the panel and pressed the intercom button.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"Wren," came the reply. Calm. Even cheerful. "I brought the circuit you requested. Also? I brought coffee."
That smile. That sweet, familiar tone that never changed.
Xander whispered, "She doesn't know we know."
Aurora pressed the button again. "Come in. Door's unlocked."
It wasn't.
They waited, silent and still, as the lock disengaged and the heavy door creaked open.
Wren stepped in, a duffel bag on her back and a disposable coffee tray in one hand. She looked exactly the same—petite, blonde, eyes too innocent for someone who trafficked in secrets. Dressed like a college student, complete with a sarcastic T-shirt that read 404: Morality Not Found.
"Hey, guys!" she chirped. "Hope the trip went well. I baked muffins."
She froze when she saw their faces.
Guns were pointed at her before she could blink.
Wren dropped the tray.
"Okay," she said carefully. "This is either a really intense surprise party… or I'm in deep sh—"
"Shut up," Aurora snapped.
Xander stepped forward. "Drop the bag. Slowly."
Wren did.
"Kick it over."
She obeyed, her smile gone now. "You think I betrayed you?"
"No," Aurora said. "We know you did."
Wren looked hurt. "Come on. Don't do this. You know me. I've bled for this team."
Aurora showed her the data rod.
Wren's face didn't change—but her eyes did.
"That's not mine."
"Spare me," Aurora said. "You sent our location to the enemy."
Wren sighed. "I had to."
Xander growled, stepping in close. "Why?"
Wren licked her lips, eyes flickering to the corridor behind them.
"She's not just a child," Wren said softly. "She's the Key. You don't know what she is, what she's capable of. But I do. I saw the original files. She's not human, Aurora. Not anymore."
Aurora's voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "She's my daughter."
Wren didn't flinch. "And because of that, you'll doom us all."
Wren didn't blink.
"She's the Key, Aurora. The bridge between engineered frequency and biological evolution. Don't you see? She's a beacon. A transmitter. You've felt it—what happens when she loses control. That wasn't power. That was war."
Aurora took a slow, deadly step forward.
"She is my daughter. She is a child."
Wren shook her head. "She's a signal host. A living node. When she awakens fully, every frequency-based weapon, surveillance grid, drone fleet, and mind-linked soldier within range will lock onto her. Either to obey her—or destroy her."
Xander's eyes narrowed. "How do you know this?"
"I saw the tapes," Wren said, her voice thin now. "I was there. I was a data analyst for Phase Zero before I defected. I watched them test her. She turned grown men to dust. One scream—and the human nervous system just... collapsed. She doesn't know it yet. But the moment she does—there's no turning back."
Aurora wanted to shoot her right then.
But Wren raised her hands. "Listen. I never gave them her location. Not exactly. Just a decoy signal to draw attention away from you. The data rod you found—it was for the backup team. I knew they'd suspect something if I stayed quiet."
"Why even play both sides?" Xander growled. "You could've disappeared."
"I couldn't." Wren's voice cracked. "They have my sister. She worked in Facility Nine. When I left, they kept her. Said if I ever went dark, she'd be the next test subject."
There was a moment of silence.
Wren added, "I thought I could protect you both. Keep Isla hidden and keep her alive too."
"And what now?" Aurora asked coldly. "What's your grand plan?"
"I need your help," Wren whispered. "There's a kill-switch embedded in Isla's neural cortex. A biological code hidden in her DNA that will trigger if she fully awakens without clearance. It'll shut her down. Permanently."
Aurora felt the ground tilt beneath her. "You're lying."
"I'm not. The code was embedded during gestation. I can't remove it alone, but I know where the override is stored—deep in the Vault. Facility Nine's Core. We get it, we break the system. She lives. Free."
Xander looked at Aurora.
A long silence passed between them.
Finally, Aurora lowered her gun.
"I'm not doing this for you," she said. "I'm doing this for Isla."
Wren let out a shaky breath of relief—just before Aurora stepped forward and punched her square in the jaw.
Wren hit the floor with a thud.
"That was for Elijah," Aurora said.
From the cot behind them, Elijah groaned, "Totally worth it."
Later that night, the plan was clear.
Wren would lead them into Facility Nine—posing as an agent transferring two prisoners: Xander and Aurora. Isla would remain behind with Elijah in the secondary safehouse under heavy protection.
Their goal: infiltrate the Vault. Steal the genetic override data. Erase any trace of Isla's existence from the master servers.
If they failed… Isla would die the next time her powers surged.
If they succeeded… they could finally disappear for good.
Hours before dawn, Aurora tucked Isla into bed beside Elijah.
The child clutched her mother's wrist.
"Where are you going?" she whispered.
"Somewhere cold," Aurora said gently. "But I'll be back before the sun remembers your name."
Isla's voice was so small it was almost inaudible.
"What if I break again?"
"You won't," Aurora said. "You're stronger than you know."
"What if I hear the voice again?"
Aurora kissed her forehead. "Then listen carefully. And remember: you are not alone. Not ever."
Isla reached up and brushed Aurora's cheek. "You're scared."
Aurora blinked. "A little."
"Me too," Isla said. "But I think… I think the woman in my head is scared of me."
Aurora paused.
She didn't answer.
She just held her daughter close—then turned, and walked into the storm.
Facility Nine sat beneath 200 meters of mountain rock and magnetic shielding, hidden from satellites, drones, and the world. A fortress built to house secrets no government ever wanted exposed.
The entrance gate was a mechanical maw carved into the rock, flanked by guards in neural-linked helmets and AI-augmented rifles. No human made it past those doors without clearance. No one human survived entry without purpose.
Wren wore her black agent uniform, face blank, ID chip broadcasting a clean signal. Xander and Aurora, shackled, played the part of fugitives—bloodied, beaten, heads down.
"Subject transfer from Sector V," Wren said to the security node.
"Clearance confirmed," the AI replied, voice cold.
The gates opened.
And hell awaited inside.