Morning arrived without ceremony.Caelan hadn’t slept. He’d spent the night folded into the narrow hospital chair, waking at every change in Lyra’s breathing, every soft beep from the monitor. When dawn finally bled through the window, it felt less like hope and more like an obligation, another day demanding strength he wasn’t sure he had left.The hours between more tests stretched unnaturally.Caelan sat in the narrow waiting alcove outside the imaging room, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. Each time the door slid open, he straightened instinctively, only to sink back again when it wasn’t for him.A nurse passed, then another. Shoes squeaked against polished floors. Somewhere down the corridor, a monitor alarm chirped briefly before being silenced.Time moved differently here.He checked the clock on the wall. Ten minutes had passed. It felt like forty.Across from him, an elderly man stared at the floor, lips pressed together, eyes red-rimmed. A woman nearby fil

The sound did not echo.It arrived.Not through Caelan’s ears, but straight into his consciousness, sharp, precise, impossible to ignore.DING!He stiffened, breath catching in his throat. For a heartbeat, he thought exhaustion had finally broken him. Sleep deprivation could do strange things to the mind. Hallucinations. Auditory distortions.He looked around.The hospital room was unchanged. Machines hummed softly. Lyra slept, her brow relaxed, unaware that anything had shifted.Then the sound came again.INITIALIZATION COMPLETE.Caelan froze.Words—clean, emotionless—unfurled across his vision like translucent glass. They did not block his sight, merely overlaid reality. Adaptive Legacy System detected suitable host. Verification in progress…His pulse thundered.“What the hell…?” he whispered.No one reacted. A nurse passed by the open door, oblivious.This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Host identity confirmed. Caelan Ashborne — Bloodline: Dormant (Severed). Status: Disposse

The hospital’s administrative wing was colder than the rest of the building.Not physically, emotionally.Here, grief didn’t cry. It queued.Caelan stood in line clutching a folder thick with forms he barely understood. Insurance statements. Payment breakdowns. Consent documents written in language that protected institutions, not people.When it was his turn, the clerk barely looked up.“Coverage doesn’t include experimental procedures,” she said, fingers already moving toward the next file.“There has to be something,” Caelan insisted. “A program. A deferment.”She sighed, finally meeting his eyes with a look that suggested she’d done this too many times to feel anything about it. “Sir, I understand this is difficult.”No, he thought. You don’t.“This is the best we can offer,” she continued, sliding a paper toward him. “Palliative support.”He stared at the word until it blurred.Outside the office, a child laughed. The sound echoed down the corridor like an accusation.Caelan lean

The call came just before dawn. Caelan was half-awake, slumped in the chair beside Lyra’s bed, when his phone vibrated against his thigh. For a moment, he considered ignoring it. Nothing good arrived before sunrise.Then he saw the caller ID.Central Review Council — Provisional OfficeHe answered.“This is Caelan Ashborne.”A woman spoke—older, her voice composed but carrying a weight that suggested authority earned rather than granted.“Mr. Ashborne,” she said. “This is Councilor Mira Ellowen. You’ve triggered a dormant registry review.”“I’m aware,” Caelan replied.“Then you’re also aware,” she continued, “that your name was removed for reasons that were never made public.”“Yes.”“That secrecy protected you,” Ellowen said. “And others.”Caelan said nothing.“You’ve forced our hand,” she went on. “The council will convene an internal inquiry within forty-eight hours. Until then, your claim exists in a suspended state.”“Meaning?” Caelan asked.“Meaning,” Ellowen said calmly, “you a

The hospital corridor smelled like antiseptic and old paint, the kind that clung to your clothes long after you left. Caelan had been pacing it for nearly an hour, counting the tiles without realizing he’d started. White. Off-white. Cracked. White again. Somewhere between the third lap and the fourth, his phone vibrated.He didn’t look at it immediately.Hope had become a fragile thing, a thin glass, easily shattered. He let the phone vibrate itself into silence before finally stopping near the window at the end of the corridor. Outside, the city moved on. Cars honked. A street vendor laughed too loudly. Life, uninterrupted. Moving. The phone vibrated again. This time, he answered.“Yes?” His voice sounded calm, even to himself.“Mr. Hale,” the doctor said. “We’ve finalized the panel.”Caelan closed his eyes.“I’m coming,” he said, already knowing there was nothing more to discuss.The consultation room was too small for news like this. The doctor sat opposite him, tablet in hand, ex