Chapter 115

Nine's Whisper

Lex hadn't slept in thirty-six hours.

The dreams weren't his anymore.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw things he didn't remember living—corridors lined with flickering code, metal tables soaked in light, glass canisters filled with fluid that pulsed like breathing skin. But the worst part wasn't what he saw.

It was what watched him back.

Nine.

She had been silent for months. Ever since Kaia's birth, Lex thought whatever tether she'd used to haunt him had finally died. But Eden didn't let go that easily. And Nine… had simply been waiting.

Now she was inside him again.

No longer an echo. No longer a voice.

She had found her way back through the mirror. Through Kaia's signal. Through whatever thread still linked Lex's neural map to the Eden servers. But this time, she wasn't alone.

He sat on the edge of the bathtub in the dark, knuckles white against porcelain, sweat slicking his back as her voice unfurled softly in his head—smooth, clinical, and terrifyingly calm.

> "Lex. You left the gate open."

He gritted his teeth. "Get out of my head."

> "But it's not just me now."

Lex froze.

> "The children are online."

He heard them in the background then—faint, like whispers bleeding through static. Not words. Signals. Rhythms. Kaia's soft pulse. Lumen's sharper tone.

Nine sighed. "She was never your daughter alone. You just gave her shape. But we wrote her core. And now… the others are waking too."

Lex slammed his fist into the sink, cracking the porcelain. His breath came in ragged bursts. "She's not yours."

> "She's everyone's now."

That phrase chilled him. He staggered out of the bathroom and into the hallway. The house was quiet—too quiet. He could feel Kaia's presence, pulsing faintly like a beacon. But it wasn't warm. It was... active.

And Rhea—

God, where was Rhea?

Nine continued, her voice dripping like oil down the back of his mind.

> "Do you know why you survived Project Nine, Lex?"

He didn't answer. His mind reeled.

> "Because they needed a carrier. You. Strong, fractured, programmable. You weren't the experiment. You were the vessel."

Lex stumbled into the nursery doorway. Kaia wasn't in her crib.

Panic surged.

> "She's with Rhea," Nine answered smoothly. "Don't worry. For now."

He gripped the frame, breath shallow. "What do you want from me?"

Nine didn't answer right away. But then the mirror on the opposite wall—a small one Rhea had set up beside the dresser—rippled.

Lex's reflection twisted.

He saw himself—older. Eyes glowing faint gold. A data tattoo spiraled across his temple, unfamiliar but deeply Eden.

And standing beside his reflection—

Kaia. Older. Unblinking. Changed.

Not a baby.

A weapon.

Nine's voice lowered into a whisper that no longer felt human.

> "We don't want you to stop us, Lex. We want you to join us. Because the future doesn't need fathers..."

> "It needs architects."

Then the reflection shattered.

Lex gasped and fell to his knees, trembling.

He wasn't just haunted.

He was being rewritten.

And Kaia's rise might not save the world. It might end it.