Chapter 61

The Burn Beneath the Skin

Later That Day. Prague.

The sun had fully risen by the time Rhea came back.

Lex heard the door open behind him, but he didn't move. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, the locket swinging gently from his fingers. The Geneva drive was gone from the nightstand. He'd locked it away. Out of sight didn't mean out of mind.

Her footsteps were quiet. Barefoot, like earlier. But there was no hesitation in them now.

He finally looked up.

Rhea stood in the doorway, eyes dark and unreadable. She wasn't crying. That would've been easier. What Lex saw was something colder. Resigned. The kind of calm you only find when grief is done tearing you apart and all that's left is ruin.

"You want the truth?" she said.

Lex didn't answer.

She stepped closer. "You want to know who I am? Fine."

She didn't yell. Her voice was sharp, but steady. And that made it worse.

"I'm not Muri," she said. "Not exactly. But I remember everything. Because they made sure I did. Not because they wanted to save her—but because they wanted to silence her."

Lex blinked. "What are you talking about?"

"She died," Rhea said, her voice breaking slightly, but she didn't stop. "Three years ago. Car crash. That's what the record says, right? But that wasn't an accident."

She took a step closer.

"Your family—the Cartwright Group—they made it look like one."

Lex froze. "No."

"She found something," Rhea said, louder now. "Something inside the Group. She was going to leak it—data from Project Echo, the real files, the ones naming names. She wasn't just another test subject. She was the one who started pulling the threads loose. And they killed her for it."

Lex stood slowly. "That's not possible. I—I would've known. I would've—"

"No, Lex," she snapped. "You wouldn't. Because they buried it. Deep. And then they did the one thing they're good at—they rebuilt her. Or tried to. They took what was left—memories, neural echoes, tissue samples—and stitched her into someone else."

She touched her chest. "Into me."

Lex's lips parted. His voice came out small. "You're saying… you were made after she died?"

Rhea nodded, tears finally breaking past the dam.

"She's gone, Lex. Muri's dead. And the only reason I exist is because they were trying to cover up a murder."

The silence between them was louder than any scream.

Lex stumbled back a step, as if the words had hit him physically.

"No," he whispered. "My family wouldn't—my father wouldn't—"

"He would," Rhea said, through clenched teeth. "And he did."

She stepped closer, trembling.

"You want to hate me because I'm not her. Fine. But don't you dare pretend the people who made me weren't the ones who killed her."

Lex dropped the locket.

It hit the floor with a soft metallic click, face down.

Just like Muri.