The motel near O'Hare hummed with the distant roar of planes taking off, each one a reminder that escape was possible—for those who could afford it. I lay on the sagging bed, staring at the water-stained ceiling, while Marcus paced the narrow room, his shadow flickering under the harsh fluorescent light. Kairo rested quietly at my side, but its presence was a constant hum in my veins now, like a second heartbeat. The merge from the Art Institute had left me changed—sharper instincts, but also a lingering ache, as if parts of me were stretched thin.
"Why me?" I said aloud, breaking the silence. The question had been gnawing since the gala. Voss's screen showing my face, Kairo's whisper about an "origin." It tied back to the accident, I was sure. My parents' car veering off the icy road that winter night—officially a skid on black ice. But shadows didn't lie, or so Kairo implied.
Marcus stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the other bed. "Your shadow's different. During the fight, it adapted faster than Lena described. Maybe it's keyed to something big."
I sat up, rubbing my temples. "Like what? I'm a restorer, not some operative."
He pulled out his laptop, typing quickly. "Let's check your family's history. You said they were in finance?"
"Dad consulted for firms downtown. Mom was an archivist at the Field Museum. Nothing shady."
The screen glowed as he accessed public records—obituaries, old articles. "Harrington... wait." His fingers paused. "Your dad consulted for OmniCorp precursors in the '90s. Early data projects."
A chill ran through me. Kairo stirred, projecting faint images on the wall: a younger version of my father in a boardroom, shadows lingering unnaturally around files. "He knew?"
"Possibly. If he crossed them, the accident—"
"Was no accident." The words hung heavy. Kairo confirmed with a pulse, flooding me with fragments: a manipulated shadow influencing the driver that night. Not mine—someone else's, pulling threads from afar.
I stood, needing air. "We have to hit Voss directly. Her penthouse."
Marcus shook his head. "Suicide. Security's airtight."
"Not if we use shadows." Kairo extended, mapping a vague layout from prior visions. The Gold Coast high-rise, guards, cameras—but blind spots in the service levels.
He considered. "Lena might have blueprints. She's got contacts in city planning."
A text came on the burner: Lena, with a new meet spot—a diner in Logan Square. "She's ahead of us."
We left the motel at dusk, taking the L to avoid tails. Chicago's trains were a microcosm of the city: weary workers, street performers, the occasional sketchy figure whose shadow seemed too alert. Kairo scanned them, no threats. Logan Square bustled with hipster cafes and murals, a facade of vibrancy over underlying grit.
The diner was a throwback—chrome stools, checkered floors. Lena waited in a booth, nursing black coffee, her shadow coiled discreetly under the table. Two others from the group flanked her: the mechanic, Raul, broad-shouldered with oil-stained hands; and the teacher, Sara, whose eyes darted like she expected ambush.
"You survived the gala," Lena said as we slid in. "Voss is rattled. Increased reaper patrols."
"Good," I replied. "Means we're close."
She slid a folder across: printouts, schematics. "Penthouse intel. Floors 50-52, private elevator. But sub-basement access via utilities—old tunnels from Prohibition days."
Raul grunted. "I can rig entry. Explosives? No. Quiet tools."
Sara added, "We train you more. Merges can backfire—lose yourself if too deep."
I nodded, but urgency burned. "Tonight?"
Lena's eyes narrowed. "Reckless, but delay lets her regroup. We go."
Prep was hasty: gear from Raul's van—lockpicks, flashlights, dampeners for cameras. Sara taught focus techniques, drawing Kairo out to practice projections. It showed Voss's routine: evenings in her study, shadows weaving data streams.
By midnight, we approached the high-rise from an alley, fog rolling off the lake like a shroud. The utility hatch was rusted but yielded to Raul's tools. We descended into dank tunnels, echoes amplifying every drip. Kairo led, its form scouting ahead, dissolving into mist to check corners.
"Clear," I whispered, relaying its senses.
The group moved silently—Lena's shadow merging with hers for enhanced hearing, Raul's providing brute force boosts. Sara's projected illusions, faint decoys to fool sensors. Marcus hung back, documenting with a hidden cam. My role: infiltrator, Kairo's visions guiding us to the private shafts.
We emerged in the sub-basement, laundry hum masking our steps. The service elevator required a hack—Raul wired a device, sparks flying briefly. Up we went, hearts pounding as floors ticked by.
At 50, doors opened to opulence: marble halls, abstract art that hid cameras. Kairo disrupted feeds, creating loops. We split—Raul and Sara to secure exits, Lena and Marcus to data rooms, me to Voss's study.
The corridor felt alive, shadows on walls watching. Kairo whispered warnings: *Threads everywhere.* I pressed on, picking the study lock with trembling hands.
Inside, the room was a sanctum—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glittering lake, a massive desk with holographic displays. Voss wasn't there, but her presence lingered. I approached the desk, Kairo extending to interface with the tech. Visions flooded: project files, lists of awakened harvested, my name highlighted. *Origin subject: Harrington lineage. Shadow anomaly—potential disruptor.*
Disruptor? Deeper: my father's files. He hadn't consulted; he'd whistleblown early experiments, shadows used for corporate espionage. OmniCorp silenced him, staging the crash. My shadow—Kairo—held residual data from that, a key to unraveling the whole network.
A sound—footsteps. I hid behind curtains as Voss entered, phone to ear. "...the girl is priority. Her shadow could expose the core protocol."
Kairo urged merge. I let it deepen, senses heightening. I saw her shadow's threads, vulnerable points. As she turned, I struck—Kairo lashing out, severing a connection. Voss gasped, her shadow recoiling.
"Who's there?" She spun, eyes locking on me as I emerged.
"You killed them," I said, voice steady despite the rage.
Recognition dawned. "Harrington's daughter. Poetic." Her shadow reformed, attacking—tendrils like whips.
The clash was intense: Kairo countering, pain ripping through me as bonds strained. Voss was skilled, her enhancements making her shadow a weapon. I dodged, using the room—toppling a lamp to create distractions.
"You can't win," she taunted. "Shadows are tools. Yours is just... louder."
Kairo revealed a weakness: her core thread, tied to a device on her wrist. I lunged, grabbing it. Energy surged, visions overwhelming—her own secrets: ambition born from loss, a sister hollowed by early tests. Human frailty.
I twisted the device, breaking the link. Her shadow fragmented, screams echoing in my mind. Voss collapsed, dazed.
Alarms blared—reapers converging. I grabbed files from the desk, stuffing them in my bag, and ran. In the hall, chaos: group fighting off arrivals. Lena's shadow held a barrier, Raul swinging improvised weapons.
"Go!" Marcus yelled, covering retreat.
We piled into the elevator, descending amid gunfire echoes. Back to tunnels, hearts racing. Surfaced blocks away, splitting up as planned.
I met Marcus at a predetermined spot—a park bench overlooking the river. "Got evidence," I panted, showing the files.
He nodded, but his expression flickered. Kairo sensed it—deceit? No, fear. "Voss isn't the top. There's more."
The files confirmed: Weaver was mid-level. True heads in D.C., global ties.
As we vanished into the night, Kairo whispered: *One thread cut, web shakes.*
But shakes brought fallout. Sirens wailed distant, city awakening to our disruption. Safety was illusion; the hunt intensified.
In a hidden corner, I reviewed the data—names, locations. My parents' revenge started, but at what cost? Merges deepened, Kairo's voice louder in my head. Was I still me?
Dawn broke gray over Chicago, shadows lengthening. The game evolved, and I was woven deeper.