Vessel

The words blurred. Not because of the screen, not because of some glitch in my comlink. Because of me.

Because my hands were shaking. Because my mind had slammed into a brick wall, full speed, and now everything was spinning.

Vessel.

I wasn't a person. I was a thing.

A project. A framework. A hollowed-out space waiting to be filled.

My breathing turned shallow. My chest clenched. I gripped the edge of the bed so hard my knuckles went white. I tried to steady myself, to ground myself in something real, something tangible.

But what the hell was real?

Not my parents. Not my past.

And definitely not Pierce.

The thought of him sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me.

Pierce. The man who had saved me. Helped me. Lied to me.

Everything I had ever felt toward him—every flicker of connection, every moment I had thought he actually saw me—it was built on a lie. He had fed me the story. He had played the role.