GOD DAMN

"Subject Blue Rose. Neural responses remain unstable. Proceed with the next phase."

The words drift through the air, hollow and detached, as if spoken through a machine.

A child sat in the center of a pristine room; her small frame swallowed by the cold fluorescence overhead. Electrodes latched onto her temples, pulsing with unreadable signals.

Beyond the glass, shadows moved—restless figures in white coats, their faces blurred by the dim light. One of them scribbled notes, another adjusted a control panel. Their voices crackled through the intercom, detached and clinical.

"She's resisting synchronization. The system is rejecting our override."

"Increase the frequency. We'll force the integration."

A sharp buzz sliced through the air. Then—pain.

It wasn't a strike or a wound. It was inside her, threading through her nerves like wildfire, burning, twisting, unraveling something deep within.

Her vision flickered; her breath caught in her throat. A scream tore from her lips.

Then—nothing.

She was floating. Not in water, not in air. In something else.

A weightless void where shapes stretched and fractured like broken glass.

A figure stood before her. Their features blurred, shifting like static across a monitor.

"Go. Run away from here."

The voice was distant, almost lost beneath the static hum. Then—

A splintering sound. The lab again.

Alarms blared. Monitors flickered erratically, lines of data racing across the screens. Symbols, numbers, images—flashes of a city skyline, a burning corridor, an outstretched hand.

"She's breaking through!"

"Impossible. Cut the feed—"

Cold metal restraints dug into her wrists. Her heartbeat pounded, syncing with the pulsing current in the air. The walls trembled. The memory itself fractured under its own weight.

And suddenly—she saw them.

Not the scientists. Not this place. The Clan.

They were distant yet right there. Watching. Waiting.

Her vision cracked apart.

A final scream—hers, theirs, someone else's—echoed into the void.

Myst jolted awake.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, fingers digging into the cold floor beneath her. The dim glow of the hideout was a stark contrast to the sterile brightness of the lab.

Someone was calling her name, but she couldn't answer. She can't even determine if it's real or not.

A word had slipped from her lips before she even realized. One she had just remembered after the haunting dream.

"Renzo."

A heavy silence settled over the room as The Clan heard her voice.

Flux stiffens. The others turn to look at him. His usual nonchalance cracks, if only for a second. "Where the fuck did you hear that name?"

Myst doesn't answer right away, still shaken by the memory. The words hover at the edge of her tongue—I don't even know who that is—but they refuse to come out.

Flux steps closer, his voice sharper now. "Answer, Liora."

She looks up, pulse still racing. The memory feels too real, too fresh. And the way he says her real name—like a warning, like a demand—makes her stomach twist.

"I... I don't know," she admits, barely above a whisper.

Flux doesn't look convinced, eyes flickering between shock and cautious. And neither do the others.

Echo exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. "Well, shit." Even he can't find a joke for this one.

Because after weeks of running with them, living in the same hideouts, fighting the same battles—The Clan has never once shared their real names with her.

Cipher's fingers twitch near his console. His voice, laced with sarcasm, barely hides the edge beneath. "I'm sorry, but that's not a name you just 'remember,' Myst."

Silence.

Flux doesn't speak. No one does. The weight of the moment settles, thick and suffocating.

Then, as if acting on instinct, Flux moves. His hand reaches for Myst's arm, a sharp urgency in his grip—like he needs to pull her aside, needs answers, now.

But the second his fingers brush against her skin—

A crackle. A faint, electric static surges between them.

It's brief, barely more than a flicker, but it's enough. Myst flinches. Flux stiffens.

He lets go immediately, his fingers flexing like they still feel the sting. But his face betrays nothing. A second later, his hands slip into his pockets, his usual mask of indifference snapping back into place.

Without a word, he turns and walks away.

Myst exhales, but it doesn't steady her.

No one dares to ask what just happened.