In the pod

**Kelly Thompson's POV**

The boy in the pod is Eden—and yet, not.

His voice is a fractured echo, his eyes twin voids rimmed with gold. When he steps out, the ground beneath him *cracks*, splintering into geometric patterns that glow with the Architects’ cold, sterile light. He wears Eden’s face like a mask, but his smile is a blade.

**“You took too long, Mom,”** he says, tilting his head. **“They’ve made so many of me.”**

Behind him, hundreds of pods hum to life, each revealing a different version of Eden: a child with roots for hair, a teen with wings of static, a man whose skin drips molten gold. They press their hands to the glass in unison, their voices harmonizing into a single, deafening command.

**“CHOOSE.”**

The static in my chest—no longer mine, but the Architects’ leash—twists like a live wire. Ravel grabs my arm, her knife already bloody from the hybrids we’ve cut down. “They’re not real. *None* of them are.”