Mishka lifted the recording to her lips, remembering every lullaby her mother had ever sung. The not-Catherine entity's expression flickered between hunger and uncertainty as Mishka began to hum – not the haunting frequencies of the network, but a simple melody Catherine had sung to her as a child.
The floating prototypes stuttered in their rotation. The entity tilted its head, confusion rippling across its features. "That's not the song we—"
"It's my song," Mishka said firmly. "My frequency." She continued humming, and the recording in her hand began to resonate with her voice, amplifying not power but peace, not hunger but home.
Myrtle's sword dimmed as she understood, its defensive fire unnecessary against this particular weapon. Nathaniel's eyes gleamed with approval as he took up a harmonizing note, his wolf-voice adding depth to Mishka's melody.