Damon went to the Echo Layer and the deeper Damon moved through the Echo Layer, the more unreal the world became. No walls, no floors just a vast blackness stretching in every direction, dotted with floating data fragments filled with memories, conversations, emotions like frozen sparks in time. He walked carefully along a shimmering thread of light beneath his feet, like a cable strung across the void. Every step forward felt like falling into someone else’s soul. Mindfire’s voice whispered into his thoughts. [“You’re close. The core of the Echo isn’t just data it’s identity.”] Damon nodded silently his upgraded neural interface the one the resistance installed before the Rome infiltration allowed him to navigate the layer without collapsing. Still, the farther in he went, the louder the noise became. He passed a bubble of memory with a child laughing. Then another someone dying in a hospital bed. These weren’t his memories they were the lost echoes of thousands of minds uploade

Damon’s fingers trembled slightly as he gripped the edge of the submersible’s console. The cold sea pressed in around them, a silent witness to the storm brewing below. “So,” he said, voice rough but steady, “Lena trusted you enough to send you after me. Why?” Sive shrugged, eyes flicking to the sonar readout. “Because she knew you’d need someone who can handle the network’s shadows and the ones who dwell in them. I’m not just a pilot I hack, I sneak, and I survive where no one else dares.” Damon studied her, looking for a sign of deceit. But behind her calm exterior was the same kind of hardened resolve he’d seen in Lena’s eyes before the fracture. “Can I trust you?” She grinned, showing just a hint of teeth. “Depends on what you want me to do.” His jaw clenched. “Get me to the Core Vault.” Sive nodded. “Already on course. But we’re not the only ones headed that way.” Damon’s breath hitched. “Rootstream?” “Worse.” The sub’s lights flickered. The sonar ping suddenly

The swirling void before them pulsed with an ominous rhythm, like the heartbeat of a sleeping giant. Damon stepped forward, feeling the weight of every choice that had led him here pressing on his shoulders. Rootstream’s distorted voice echoed again, this time closer, almost inside his mind. “You carry the remnants of the first Architect, Damon. Join me, and together we will reshape existence.” Sive tightened her grip on her neural interface controls. “Don’t listen. It’s trying to manipulate you split your focus.” Jaren’s eyes flickered with pain. “This is where many have fallen. The Vault feeds on doubt.” Damon closed his eyes, reaching deep into his fractured memories, searching for Lena’s voice the spark of humanity that refused to be erased. “I’m still here. Between the echoes.” The words steadied him with a surge of will Damon lunged forward into the void. The world fractured he was no longer in the submersible or the Vault but floating in a surreal expanse shards of memor

Verity Alden had always known her family kept secrets. But what she hadn’t known what she couldn’t have imagined was that she was one of them. The morning after she and Damon spoke the words aloud burn the name. As she returned to her father’s estate under the guise of reconciliation. Her skin still carried Damon’s fingerprints in her mind and his whispers. Her stepmother, Cassandra, was waiting by the marble fountain in a white silk robe, stirring honey into her tea like she hadn’t once ordered Verity to be sedated and shipped overseas. “You’ve been… behaving,” Cassandra said, not looking up. “Your father’s noticed.” Verity’s smile was razor thin. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint the family.” Cassandra looked at her then eyes too blue, too empty. “Families are illusions. Brands with bloodlines.” “And I suppose you’re the marketing director?” “No, dear.” She sipped her tea. “I’m the firewall.” Verity blinked as she heard that word again with a subtle chill running down her spin

The Alden estate had never looked smaller Verity stood at the foot of the grand staircase, her heels clicking against the polished marble like gunshots. The air was still scented with her stepmother’s perfume fading, acidic, and faintly desperate. Cassandra had been dealt with, quietly and permanently. The staff wouldn’t speak Damon had ensured that. All that remained was the man who built the machine. Mr. Alden sat in his study, back to the fireplace, nursing a glass of brandy as if the world hadn’t changed around him. He didn’t look up when she entered. “I wasn’t aware you still remembered how to walk into this room,” he said coldly. Verity stepped forward. “I remember everything. Especially the parts you tried to erase.” “Is this about Cassandra?” he asked, finally meeting her gaze. “She was a mistake. One I had to manage.” “You always say that. About women. About people. About anything that doesn’t serve your blueprint.” He frowned. “You’re upset.” “No,” she said, til