The world didn’t fall—it detonated beneath Ethan’s feet.The floor gave way in one violent jolt, concrete snapping like brittle glass as the entire sub-basement groaned under the shockwave of the Catalyst’s entrance. Dust exploded upward in thick clouds, swallowing the flickering lights, swallowing the room, swallowing everything except the glowing figure standing perfectly still at the edge of the collapse.“Ethan, MOVE!” Maya shouted, grabbing his arm with a force born from pure survival instinct.But Ethan’s eyes were locked—unmoving—frozen—on the living weapon staring back at him with Ada’s Echo burning in its gaze.The same pattern.The same pulse.The same biological signature he had only ever seen in her medical scans.He almost forgot to breathe.A piece of the floor snapped loose under him. Maya yanked him back seconds before it plunged into the abyss below.“Ethan! Snap out of it!” she barked.His mind roared.That’s my mother’s Echo.In a Host.In a weapon.The Catalyst

The floor was no longer steady.It rippled.Flexed.Breathing like the ribcage of a titan buried beneath the foundation of the world.Maya stumbled as she ran, boots skidding across a trembling catwalk suspended over a cylindrical abyss. Sparks erupted from torn power cables. Red emergency lights flickered in slow, glitching pulses—time itself stuttering as the Convergence field expanded.A voice—cold, fractured, panicked—echoed behind her.“HALT.”She didn’t even look back.The Catalyst was giving chase again.Limbs glitching.Body hissing with ruptured circuitry.Eyes flickering through broken sequences.Maya ducked under a falling beam, rolled, and jumped across a collapsed section of the walkway. She hit the ground hard, pain lancing up her left leg.It didn’t matter.Because at the far end of the catwalk, she saw it:A massive spherical chamber, suspended by a web of rotating rings.The Convergence Core.And inside it—Floating in a cradle of fractal light—Ethan.Her breath caug

She woke up before Mirko.The room was dim, still holding the muted glow of dawn through the curtains. The air was cool—soft against her skin—but Mirko’s warmth behind her made everything feel anchored.His arm was draped over her waist, heavy but protective. His breathing was slow, steady, deep.Like nothing in the world could shake him.For a moment, she just lay there, letting it all wash over her—the weight of his arm, the subtle rise and fall of his chest against her back, the faint smell of his cologne lingering on the sheets.It felt surreal.Mirko.Holding her.Not out of duty. Not because danger pushed them together.But because he wanted to.Her fingers hovered over his forearm, gently tracing the scars there. Old wounds. Faded memories. Marks from a past life that had shaped him.Marks she now understood better than anyone else.She felt him stir slightly behind her.His voice came next—low, gravelly, thick with sleep.“You’re awake.”She smiled without turning. “Barely.”M

The shower was still running when she finally walked in.Steam thickened the air, turning the bathroom mirrors into blurred silver sheets. The tiles were warm beneath her feet, and the scent of him—clean, sharp, familiar—hung in the mist.Mirko stood under the water, head bowed, hands braced against the wall.He looked like a carved statue brought to life—broad shoulders, long lines of muscle, droplets sliding down his back in thin trails. But there was something else, too.Stillness.Not cold.Not distant.A kind of stillness that comes after someone finally stops fighting themselves.She approached quietly, unsure if he even heard her enter. The water thundered around him, yet his voice reached her clearly.“You’re awake.”She smiled softly. “And you’re already up.”“I needed the heat.” His fingers flexed against the wall. “Last night… it took more out of me than I expected.”She stepped closer, her hand brushing the condensation on the glass.“Talking?” she asked gently.He exhaled

The café was quiet in a way that felt almost unreal.Soft clinks of cutlery.Muted conversations drifting like gentle background static.Warm light pooling over wooden tables.And there—across from her—Mirko sat with his coffee untouched, fingers wrapped around the cup like he needed the anchor more than the drink.He looked… calmer.Not fully relaxed.Not fully open.But calm in a way she’d never seen on him before.And watching him like this—bare, unguarded, entirely human—made something warm gather beneath her ribs.“You’re staring,” he murmured without looking up.She blinked. “I’m not.”“You are.”“Well… maybe a little.”He finally lifted his eyes.Steady.Focused.Soft in a way he would never admit.“What are you thinking?” she asked.He hesitated for a beat—just long enough to show he considered lying.Then he didn’t.“That you look… peaceful this morning,” he said quietly.The confession surprised her more than the content itself.Mirko wasn’t someone who said gentle things c