The morning began with silence—calm, like the eye of a storm.
Ethan hadn't left the lab since the day before. He hadn't slept either. He sat hunched over his notebook, pen still in hand, pages streaked with fresh calculations and corrections. The paper beneath him had almost turned translucent from hours of scribbling.
But the numbers couldn't distract him. His mind spun with questions—questions he should've asked earlier.
Why did it even happen?
Why was the fetus consuming nutrients in amounts that could sustain city blocks?
Where was all of it going?
The child didn't need that much energy just to grow. Not unless it was being used for something else. Something deeper. Something designed. And now, Eleanor's cells weren't just surviving—they were thriving. Multiplying. Advancing. He had crossed a threshold without realizing it. And the world would come knocking.
The injunction sat on the corner of the bench, unopened. He hadn't touched it.
He wouldn't.
A knock rattled the door.
Before he could answer, it swung open.
It wasn't Mercer or the suited board men.
It was a nurse. Pale. Breathless.
"She's awake," the nurse gasped. "And walking."
Ethan stood up too fast—his chair clattered behind him.
"What?"
In Eleanor's Room
The machines were still on.
But they weren't needed anymore.
Eleanor stood by the window, sunlight bathing her skin. She looked alive—truly alive—for the first time in months. She stood. Her posture was straight. Her movements calm. Her breath even.
She turned as Ethan entered. "Ethan," she said, smiling.
He stared, then rushed to her, arms wrapping tightly around her. She held him just as tightly. She didn't sway. She didn't lean. She was strong.
"You were unconscious yesterday," he whispered.
"I know. Something changed."
He stepped back and studied her face, her skin, her color. She looked better than healed.
"I feel… brand new," she said softly. "I-I don't know how to describe it. I…I feel complete finally."
He nodded, trying to quiet the thoughts racing through his head.
The compound was replicating faster than he'd predicted. Eleanor wasn't just regenerating—she was outpacing the child's demand. She wasn't just alive.
She was evolving.
Later—Ethan's Lab
The monitors confirmed it.
Perfect vitals. Cellular duplication rates far beyond baseline. Her body multiplied nutrients at the speed of sound. She had already multiplied and consumed the amount of nutrients that could sustain five cities already. The fetus had stopped draining her system. Her body had adapted—no, accelerated. The compound hadn't just stabilized her. It had redefined her biology.
And that terrified him.
He stood still for a long time, watching graphs move on the screen. Then he whispered to himself: "I need to test the fetus. This kind of energy redirection doesn't come from nowhere. The prototype multiplies when the body demands for more nutrients. So why does the baby need this much?"
He scrolled through the results and tests once more, studying them. His mind was reeling.
What have I made?
His own hands shook slightly as he feared his own creation. It was not supposed to exist. A liquid like this is not supposed to exist. Yes, he understands it mostly. But it was made for Eleanor and the baby only, no one else. But he wanted to know what it would do to other people other than Eleanor and the baby.
He looked at his own hands.
He had to.
He had no other option to choose from.
He turned to another desk, where all the tests and records were kept. He walked over to it and took an empty syringe and faced its needle on his arm before—hesitantly—taking some of his own blood.
He had to find out if it was happening to Eleanor only or does it happen to everyone.
He placed the syringe on the desk. Near Eleanor's blood samples. He scrolled through the results one more time, studying. Planning.
After minutes of testing and studying his own genes, he got the results. Faster this time. Eleanor had another life in her so it took more time, unlike his.
Ethan's eyes narrowed, his eyes scanning around the screen. He found out new information about himself.
His and her blood and genes were similar. Too similar. The same DNA that took effect in Eleanor's body was the same as Ethan's as well.
Why are we this similar?
We are not even from the same bloodline.
As he spent more time studying this, he realised that testing the prototype on himself will get the same results or effects as Eleanor's. But, of course, there are differences and he wanted to know if the outcome will change due to that. After all, the prototype had no side effects. No danger to fear. But it was specifically meant for Eleanor—and by the concerning coincidence—they both have similar genes.
If he had tested this on another person—where their genes are completely different from Eleanor's—he would have got more of a different result.
Something inside Eleanor's genes had made it multiply beyond the predictable pace. And he is going to find out if he will have the same effect or not.
He slowly looked at the few pairs of vials where the prototype is. He hesitantly took a vial and stared at it, his mind going too fast but got tangled in his anxiety and curiosity at once. He slowly took another syringe from the tray on the same desk he took the empty one earlier. He didn't let his hands shake as he draws the prototype into the syringe. He didn't waste a drop of the liquid by taking too much then he had to.
It was precious.
He looked at the syringe that was now filled with the prototype. The same prototype that made a miracle happen. He thought for sometime before he brought the syringe close to his arm once again.
He sighed and injected himself with it. The liquid was gone in seconds.
A sharp coldness was the first feeling he got. He placed the now empty syringe back in the tray as he looked at his arm.
He waited for any feeling or sensation that would help him decide if it was working or not. But no effects were there. Nothing. Not even a little dizziness. He was glad, yes, but did question why it had no effect at the start. He knew it would take a few hours for it to take effect so he had to wait.
He got to his computer and started typing the recording of his findings he learned today. He had to transfer it to his flash drive. He thought for some time as he typed on his keyboard. Trying to connect the dots in his mind—related to the baby's terrifying growth rate.
The knock came again. Slower this time.
He didn't answer.
They came in anyway.
Dr. Mercer led the way, her expression sharp but neutral. The two suited men followed, the taller one holding a new folder—thicker now, stuffed with signatures, stamps, and approvals.
Ethan didn't turn to face them.
Mercer spoke first. "We've seen the updated logs."
"She walked unaided through the corridor," the tall man added.
"That kind of recovery," Mercer said, "doesn't happen naturally."
"I know," Ethan replied, fingers still moving across the keyboard.