The cold wind lashed against the glass window as the Prototype sat upright in her hospital bed, heart pounding. The dream hadn't been a dream—it was a warning.
She clutched her chest as fragments came rushing in: fire licking the walls of a dim lab, a glass chamber cracking under pressure, and a girl—her—screaming inside a pod filled with fluid.
But it wasn't her.
It was Liang Ruoxi.
Yet somehow, she had been outside the chamber… watching.
She slipped off the bed, barefoot, wearing nothing but a loose gown. Her legs trembled, but her determination rooted her. The guards wouldn't expect her to be awake—not after the dose they gave her. But they had underestimated the Prototype.
Meanwhile, across the city, Zeyan leaned against the wall of the safe house, eyes fixed on Ruoxi. She was seated at the old wooden table again, flipping through the decrypted documents from the flash drive.
A birth certificate appeared on screen.
Name: Liang RuoxiDate of Birth: RedactedOrigin Facility: QH Biogenics—Clone Phase 2
Ruoxi didn't flinch, but her fingers curled slightly. "So I'm… Phase Two," she murmured.
Zeyan stepped closer. "It doesn't change anything."
She laughed softly, hollow. "You say that like it's a comforting line. But what does it change for you?"
"I still see you," he said quietly. "The woman who risked everything to protect others. The one who found truth even when it hurt."
She looked up. "What if I was never real to begin with?"
Zeyan met her gaze. "Then real means nothing. Because you're the most real thing in my life."
Her eyes softened, lips parting to speak—but a sudden knock interrupted them. Not a knock, actually—a tap on the window.
Ruoxi tensed. Zeyan drew his gun.
They moved in sync.
He opened the curtain just enough to see… a girl standing outside in a thin gown, barefoot and shivering—but with Ruoxi's face.
Ten minutes later, the Prototype was wrapped in a heavy blanket, eyes wide as she sat across from Ruoxi and Zeyan.
Ruoxi stared at her—at herself—and felt her throat tighten.
"It's you," she whispered. "From the grave. From the fire."
"No," the Prototype said, her voice raw. "That was you."
Ruoxi blinked. "What are you talking about?"
The girl looked between them, then slowly reached into her blanket. From within, she pulled a folded page—stained and worn.
A lab report.
"Subject R07: Tissue integration successful. Initial mental structuring complete. Identity masking applied. Deployment assigned to Family Liang under Project Twin Flame Phase 2."
Zeyan scanned the page. His eyes narrowed. "You weren't Ruoxi's clone. You were… the original?"
The Prototype's expression was unreadable. "I was the first. You were the success."
Ruoxi reeled. "That doesn't make sense—my memories, my life—"
"Were planted," the girl said. "But they were made from mine."
Zeyan's brows furrowed. "Then… only one of you was born."
The girl nodded. "Only one was real."
Ruoxi's chest ached. "Which one?"
Silence.
Then the girl looked at her, and for the first time… smiled. Sadly.
"You were."
Ruoxi didn't know how long she sat there after the Prototype fell asleep, exhausted. The fire in the old hearth crackled quietly, and Zeyan stood nearby, watching her with unreadable eyes.
"I should be relieved," Ruoxi whispered. "I should feel grateful I'm not just… manufactured."
"But you don't?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "Because now I know she lived through the pain so I could have a life. A name. A family—even if they betrayed me. I was given a chance because she was discarded."
Zeyan knelt beside her, placing a hand on her knee. "You didn't ask for it."
"I still benefited."
He reached up, gently cupping her face. "That guilt? It means your heart is yours. No one created that."
Her eyes shimmered. "Why do you always know the right thing to say?"
"I don't," he said. "I just say what I feel when I'm around you."
She leaned in—barely an inch—and he didn't move.
The tension pulsed between them.
Then, like a soft promise, she rested her forehead against his.
No kiss. No rush. Just closeness.
"Stay," she whispered.
"I will," he replied.
But far away, in a steel-walled bunker beneath Geneva, a screen flickered to life.
On it, surveillance footage of the safehouse. The Prototype's escape had not gone unnoticed.
A voice crackled through the speaker:
"Phase Three begins. Reclamation window closing in seven days."
A shadowy figure turned toward the screen. Her heels clicked slowly on the polished floor. Her reflection showed a woman in a sharp white suit.
Linyue.
Or rather…
Someone who had once gone by that name.