Sev walked ahead of us,
bare feet silent against the polished floor,
posture hunched but obediently following every small gesture I made.
The light overhead flickered softly as we moved—
not broken, just… adjusting.
Almost as if the system was reacting to our presence.
Chandler muttered under his breath:
"Great. Even the lights know we're not supposed to be here."
Horace stayed close on my right,
Rowan on my left,
Lucian slightly forward with the tablet held like a compass.
The air on B6 felt different.
Heavier.
Colder.
Too clean.
Like the scent had been scrubbed away deliberately.
Rowan whispered:
"It smells wrong."
Chandler arched a brow.
"Wrong how?"
Rowan hugged his elbows.
"Sterile. Like someone tried to erase… everything."
Lucian nodded, eyes scanning the readings.
"That fits.
B6 wasn't abandoned.
It was cleaned."
Horace frowned.
"Before or after the subjects were moved?"
Lucian hesitated.
"…both."
We walked past a long row of glass rooms.
Empty.
Echoingly empty.
Restraints gleaming under bright lights.
Chairs polished.
Harnesses re-folded.
Screens wiped down.
As if someone left in a hurry—
because they knew someone else was coming.
My voice came out soft.
"They were preparing this floor for something."
Lucian nodded.
"Or someone."
Sev flinched when I said it.
His shoulders tensed, and he looked over his shoulder at me with wide, frightened eyes.
I lowered my voice:
"Sev… it's okay. You're safe."
He stopped trembling.
Just barely.
Rowan whispered:
"He really listens to you…"
Horace's tone was quiet, but edged:
"That also means the others were trained the same way."
Chandler let out a sharp breath.
"So if they hear her—"
"They'll follow," Lucian finished.
Rowan swallowed.
"That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be," Lucian murmured.
THE MARKINGS
We turned the corner into a dimmer hallway.
Sev's steps slowed.
He held his hands close to his chest now, fingers curled inward, as if bracing for something.
Rowan tugged at my sleeve.
"Elle… look."
He pointed at the wall.
At first I didn't understand.
Then I stepped closer.
On the clean white panel was a faint indentation—
like someone had dragged their fingernails down across it.
Five long lines.
Deep.
Ugly.
Claw marks.
Chandler exhaled.
"…that's not something a human hand can do."
Lucian crouched beside it.
"The material here is reinforced carbon-surface composite.
Even a Beta couldn't scratch it."
Rowan swallowed hard.
"Then… what made them?"
Horace's voice was low.
"A subject in Phase Three or Four."
My stomach tightened.
Lucian tapped the wall.
"Look closely.
These scratches aren't random."
I leaned in.
My breath caught.
Rowan gasped.
Chandler swore.
Because etched faintly between the claw marks—
as if someone tried to carve it with trembling fingers—
was a name.
A single word.
"JAN."
Rowan's hand flew to his mouth.
"Elle… that's Elliot's middle name…"
Horace steadied me instinctively.
Lucian whispered:
"He was here."
Chandler swallowed.
"He was alive enough to scratch this in."
Rowan's voice cracked.
"He was trying to leave a message—
to you—
to someone—
to anyone—"
Lucian ran his fingers gently over the carved letters.
"No.
Look at the edges.
This isn't an adult's carving."
Chandler frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Lucian pointed.
"The grooves aren't deep enough for grown nails.
The grip pressure fits a smaller hand."
Silence fell.
Cold and suffocating.
I whispered:
"…a child?"
Lucian nodded slowly.
"Yes."
Rowan shook his head violently.
"No—no, that doesn't make sense—
why would a—?"
Chandler's voice hardened.
"They were using kids for this too."
Horace closed his eyes briefly.
"Not using, Chandler.
They were making."
Lucian stood, expression hollow.
"And this wasn't carved by Elliot.
It was carved by someone who knew him."
Rowan trembled.
"Who would know Elliot like that?"
We all turned.
Sev had pressed himself against the wall, staring at the carved name.
His lips moved.
Soft.
Uncertain.
Trying.
"…Jan…"
My heart stopped.
Sev touched the word gently.
Delicately.
Like he remembered it from a dream.
Rowan whispered, shaking:
"H-How would he know Elliot's middle name…?"
Lucian's voice was thin.
"Because Phase Two subjects were conditioned using Elliot's memories."
Horace stiffened.
"What?"
Lucian swallowed.
"They didn't just use his scent pattern.
They used his personal data.
His early files.
His resonance logs.
His voice samples.
Everything."
Rowan looked sick.
"They… they put Elliot's memories into Sev?"
"No," Lucian whispered.
"They fed the subjects pieces of Elliot."
Chandler gritted his teeth.
"To make them copies."
Horace answered darkly.
"To replace him."
My breath hitched.
"Why would they do that?"
Lucian met my gaze.
"Because the Academy needed a perfect experiment.
A controllable, stable subject.
If Elliot broke…"
His voice lowered.
"…they'd make another."
Sev trembled beside the carving—
small, fragile, terrified.
Rowan spoke quietly.
"But Sev isn't a perfect copy.
He's… himself. Someone else."
Lucian nodded.
"That's why he was never moved to Phase Three.
He didn't match enough to replace Elliot."
A beat.
"He was considered a failure."
Chandler swore under his breath, voice cracking with fury.
Horace touched my shoulder gently.
"Elleanore… you don't have to see more."
But I shook my head.
"I need to know the truth."
Because if they carved Elliot's name—
they remembered him.
They cared for him.
They tried to hold onto him.
And that meant—
They didn't fail him.
The Academy did.
THE LOCKED DOOR
We moved deeper until the corridor narrowed into a dead-end, blocked by a large reinforced metal door.
Sev stepped toward it.
Then froze.
His breathing picked up—
fast, ragged.
Lucian frowned.
"He's reacting to something."
Rowan stepped behind me.
"What's behind that door?"
Chandler pressed his palm against the metal.
"It's warm."
Horace narrowed his eyes.
"Lucian. Scan it."
Lucian placed his tablet against the sensor.
The screen flashed.
Numbers ran.
Codes processed.
Then:
ACCESS RESTRICTED
PHASE 3—CONTAINMENT ZONE
SUBJECT 07 ONLY
Rowan's breath caught.
"Elleanore's signature again…"
Lucian nodded slowly.
"They keyed this room to Elliot.
And now—
to her."
Chandler eyed the door.
"So open it."
Lucian hesitated.
Rowan grabbed his sleeve.
"Why aren't you opening it?!"
Lucian whispered:
"Because this is where the failed replicants were kept."
Horace's grip on my arm tightened.
Chandler stepped protectively in front of Rowan.
I swallowed.
"Failed…?"
Lucian nodded.
"Yes.
Subjects that couldn't complete the mimic conditioning.
Too unstable.
Too dangerous.
Too close to Elliot—
or not close enough."
Sev whimpered—
a small, broken sound.
My heart clenched painfully.
I stepped closer to him.
"Sev…
were you in here?"
He shook his head slowly.
But then—
he pointed to himself.
Then pointed at the door.
Then made a small, fearful gesture—
two hands tapping his temples—
the sign he used earlier for memory.
Lucian inhaled sharply.
"He remembers what happened in there."
Horace whispered:
"Elleanore…
if you open this door, we don't know what's inside."
Chandler's jaw clenched.
"It could attack us.
Any of us."
Rowan whispered:
"Or it could… help us."
Lucian took a step back.
"Elleanore.
This is your decision."
The door waited.
Silent.
Unmoving.
Breathing cold air into the hallway through the cracks.
Behind it—
were remnants of Elliot's program.
Echoes that never became full copies.
Lives broken to fit a mold they never asked for.
My brother was deeper still.
But this—
this was the first door he passed through.
I rested my hand on the scanner.
The panel glowed.
Lucian whispered:
"Elleanore—"
Beep.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The door hissed.
The seal released.
Chandler raised his stance.
Horace grabbed my arm.
Rowan held his breath.
Sev trembled.
And as the door slid open—
a shape inside lifted its head.
Eyes glowing faint blue.
And whispered:
"…Elle."
The Ones Still Left Inside
The door slid open with a slow, groaning hiss,
like a creature waking.
Cold air spilled out—
colder than the hallway,
colder than the labs,
cold enough that the hair on my arms prickled instantly.
Chandler stepped forward, arm raised.
Horace tightened his grip around my wrist.
Rowan pressed close to my side, shaking.
Sev stood absolutely still.
Frozen.
Silent.
Eyes wide.
As if the room behind that door wasn't just a place—
but a memory.
A long, jagged scar he couldn't forget.
Then—
A figure inside lifted its head.
It was kneeling in the dim room, half in shadow,
arms bound behind its back by thick restraints.
The same pale scrubs.
The same bruised wrists.
The same shaved hair revealing marks along the scalp
from where machines had been attached.
But this one was—
bigger.
Almost my height.
Older than Sev.
Stronger build.
Its posture more upright—
less broken.
The moment its eyes met mine,
they flickered blue.
Not the sharp alertness of a predator.
Not the vacancy of a machine.
A flicker of humanity
swimming beneath the conditioning.
Then it spoke.
A hoarse, trembling whisper:
"…Elle…"
Rowan gasped.
Covered his mouth.
Tears filled his eyes again.
Chandler stepped in front of me immediately.
"No.
No closer."
Horace moved with him, forming a barrier.
Lucian lifted his tablet, scanning rapidly.
"…This is Subject 07-B."
Rowan's voice cracked.
"Like… Sev is 07-A?"
Lucian nodded.
"And this one…
was the next attempt."
Sev jerked violently.
He made a sound I hadn't heard from him before—
a broken growl.
He shook his head rapidly.
Stepped backward, trembling.
Rowan blinked.
"Sev…?"
The second echo subject—07-B—
pulled against his restraints.
Not violently.
Not attacking.
Just—
straining.
Like he wanted to stand.
Like he wanted to come forward.
Like he recognized me.
Chandler tensed.
"You're not touching her.
I don't care what they programmed into you."
But the subject didn't try to break free.
Didn't leap forward.
Instead—
He lowered himself.
Kneeling again.
Head bowed.
The same way Sev did…
Except his movement wasn't compliance.
It was shame.
Lucian's breath caught.
"Oh no…"
Rowan looked at him, terrified.
"What—what's wrong—?"
Lucian pointed at the restraints.
"This subject wasn't kept here for containment.
He was kept here because he failed."
Chandler frowned.
"Failed what? Being Elliot?"
Lucian nodded slowly.
"Yes."
I felt sick.
Horace stepped closer to me, steadying my shoulders.
"Elleanore…
you don't have to look."
But I couldn't look away.
Because behind 07-B…
were scratches on the walls.
Dozens.
Hundreds.
Deep, frantic marks forming shapes—
tiny attempts at writing.
Rowan whispered:
"They… they tried to write your name…"
Lucian swallowed.
"These subjects were forced to memorize Elliot's identifier.
His scent profile.
His voice patterns.
And then—
to imprint the same way he did…"
Chandler muttered:
"Onto Elle."
Rowan looked like he was going to collapse.
Sev stepped forward suddenly, trembling violently.
He reached toward 07-B, voice cracking:
"…No…
No…
No Elle… mine…"
Rowan jerked.
"What—
what did he say?"
Lucian inhaled.
"He said: 'No… Elle… mine.'
Meaning—
he's afraid of being replaced."
Chandler's eyes widened.
"Like a child fighting for attention."
Lucian nodded.
"Because his entire identity is tied to that anchor.
Elliot's anchor.
Your anchor."
Sev wasn't jealous.
He was terrified.
Terrified that if 07-B reached me,
he would become useless.
Disposable.
Again.
He pressed himself against my side, shaking hard enough that I had to hold his arm.
"Sev—
Sev, it's okay," I whispered.
He made a tiny sound—
fear, surrender, longing—
and leaned into me.
Horace's expression softened with heartbreak.
Rowan knelt beside Sev, touching his arm gently.
"You're safe.
No one's replacing you.
No one's hurting you again."
Sev blinked slowly, calming a fraction.
And 07-B…
He watched everything with wide, aching eyes.
His lips parted.
"…Elle…"
This time—
the voice cracked.
Not because of mimicry.
Not because of programming.
Because he didn't know how to say anything else.
Horace stepped protectively beside me.
"Elleanore.
What do you want to do?"
I stepped closer to the doorway.
Chandler moved with me, tense but ready.
Rowan followed, clinging to my sleeve.
Lucian stayed near the controls, watching both subjects.
Inside the room, 07-B's breathing hitched.
He lifted his bound hands—
as much as the restraints allowed—
and held them out toward me.
Not threatening.
Not grabbing.
Reaching.
Pleading.
My chest tightened.
"Lucian," I whispered,
"can we unbind him?"
Rowan panicked.
"No—Elle—he'll lunge—he'll—"
Lucian shook his head quickly.
"No.
He won't."
Chandler's voice dropped.
"How do you know?"
Lucian showed his tablet.
"Because the moment she entered his line of sight,
all aggression markers dropped to zero."
Horace nodded slightly.
"He's imprinting."
Lucian added quietly:
"He was conditioned to respond to Elliot's scent as a stabilizer.
Your scent matches enough to act as the same anchor."
Chandler swore softly.
"So now she has two broken test subjects clinging to her."
But he didn't sound angry.
He sounded devastated.
Rowan whispered:
"…He's scared too, isn't he?"
Lucian nodded.
"Yes.
And he's been waiting longer than Sev."
That hurt.
It made something sharp twist inside my ribs.
Because I saw it now:
The bruises around his wrists.
The cracked dryness on his lips.
The hollow ache in his eyes.
The way he leaned toward my voice like sunlight.
Not because I was Elleanore Fonze.
But because I smelled like the person they were forced to copy.
Elliot.
I stepped inside.
Sev whimpered and followed immediately, afraid to let me leave his sight.
Chandler and Horace shadowed me.
Rowan stayed close behind.
07-B bowed his head lower.
"…Elle…"
I knelt in front of him.
His breath hitched.
He looked up slowly through his lashes—
like a child waiting for permission to exist.
"…Elle…"
This time, the sound was soft.
Hopeful.
Not mimicry.
Lucian whispered behind me:
"He's not echoing Elliot's voice here.
This is his own."
Chandler's posture tensed, but he didn't pull me back.
Horace remained beside me, steady as a wall.
Rowan held his breath.
Sev knelt at my other side, pressing close, trembling but no longer panicking.
I touched the back of 07-B's bound hands.
He gasped—
a broken, human gasp—
and leaned forward until his forehead rested against my shoulder.
Shaking.
Sobbing silently.
Like someone who had been alone for too long.
Rowan cried again.
Lucian lowered his head.
Horace steadied me with a soft touch on my back.
Chandler exhaled shakily, eyes soft despite his scowl.
I whispered:
"Sev has a name.
You should have one too."
His breath caught.
He lifted his head slightly.
"…name…?"
Rowan whispered:
"He doesn't even know if he's allowed to have one…"
My throat tightened painfully.
I cupped his face gently—
carefully avoiding the bruises—
and whispered:
"What do you want to be called?"
He blinked.
Tears welled in his blue-flickering eyes.
His voice cracked:
"…El…li—"
Rowan jerked.
"No—no, no—
he's not Elliot—"
Lucian stepped forward quickly.
"Stop.
He's not choosing Elliot."
He pointed at my chest.
"He's trying to say Ellean.
He's echoing your syllables now."
The subject swallowed.
Nodded.
Trying again.
"…El…len…"
Chandler groaned softly.
"Okay that's—
kind of adorable actually."
Horace whispered:
"Ellean…
it's a derivative of your name.
A new one."
Rowan smiled through tears.
"That means he wants a name connected to you."
Sev leaned forward slightly, eyes focused.
"…Len…"
The name froze in my mind.
Simple.
Soft.
Human.
I whispered:
"Len."
Subject 07-B—
Len—
shook with a small, relieved sound.
He lowered his head into my hands.
"…Len…"
Rowan cried.
Chandler rubbed his face.
Horace inhaled deeply.
Lucian scanned him quietly, expression full of unspoken guilt.
Sev touched Len's shoulder gently.
As if welcoming him.
As if forgiving him.
Lucian cleared his throat softly.
"Elleanore…
there's something else you need to see."
I looked up.
"What?"
He pointed deeper into the room.
Where a second door sat—
sealed.
Stronger.
Colder.
And above it was a plaque that made my blood run cold:
"PRIMARY ANCHOR – SUBJECT 07 – RESTRICTED."
Rowan's breath hitched.
Chandler stiffened.
Horace grabbed my hand.
Lucian whispered:
"Elleanore…
this room wasn't for the echoes."
My heart pounded.
"This room was for Elliot."