The video on the laptop screen flickered with a cold, blue light. It was a live feed from a place I didn't recognize—a sterile room made entirely of thick glass. In the center, David sat strapped to a metal chair. His head was bowed, and blood dripped from his lip onto his white shirt.
Standing over him was the man I had called 'Father' my entire life. Arthur didn't look like the gentle man who used to read me stories. His eyes were wide and filled with a frantic, greedy light. He held a small scalpel in his gloved hand, the blade shining under the bright lights.
"Where is it, David?" Arthur's voice came through the laptop speakers, distorted but sharp. "I know you hid the final sequence. Give me the key, and I will let her live."
David slowly raised his head. Even through the screen, his gaze was haunting. He didn't look afraid. He looked bored. "You think you can control what I created, Arthur? You were just the financier. I am the architect."
Arthur leaned in close, pressing the blade against David's neck. "She is my daughter!"
"She is a miracle," David whispered, a dark smile spreading across his face. "And you are just a man trying to play God with stolen tools."
The woman in the tattered white dress stood beside me, watching the screen. Her breathing was heavy and uneven. I turned to look at her, my skin crawling. Up close, the resemblance was terrifying. She had my eyes, my jawline, even the way I tilted my head. But her skin was pale like paper, and she looked exhausted.
"Why is he doing this?" I asked, pointing at the screen. "Why is my father hurting him?"
The woman didn't look away from the video. "He wants the 'Source'. David found a way to bridge the gap between memory and flesh. Arthur wants to sell that power. He doesn't care about you, Zoya. He only cares about the version of you that can stay young forever."
I felt sick. My father, the man I trusted, was treating me like a product. And David—the man who had kidnapped me and called me his sister—was the only one protecting the secret of my existence.
"Who are you?" I asked again, my voice stronger this time.
The woman finally turned to me. She reached out a trembling hand and touched the birthmark on my neck. "I was the first one. Twenty years ago, they tried to bring Eleanor back. They used her DNA, her memories, her heart. But I was a failure. My body began to reject the process. I started to age too fast, to break down."
She pulled back her sleeve, showing me skin that looked like it belonged to an eighty-year-old woman, even though her face looked like mine. "David hid me here. He couldn't kill me, but he couldn't fix me either. So he tried again. He created you."
My heart stopped. "I'm... I'm a second attempt?"
"No," she whispered. "You are the perfection. You are everything I was supposed to be. But you are also a cage. As long as you exist, the 'Watchers' will never stop hunting."
Suddenly, the house shook. A loud explosion echoed from the cliffs outside. The scarred man, who had been guarding the door, burst into the room. His face was covered in fresh blood, and he was gripping a rifle.
"They're here!" he shouted. "The Watchers found the signal from the laptop. We have to move!"
"What about David?" I cried out, looking at the screen. In the video, Arthur had turned his head toward the door as if he heard something. The feed began to glitch and break apart.
"Forget David!" the man barked, grabbing my arm. "If they catch you, it's over for everyone."
But I couldn't move. I saw David look directly into the camera on the screen. It was like he could see me sitting in that dusty room miles away. He moved his lips, saying something without a sound.
Run, Zoya. Find the Red Room.
The screen went black.
"I'm not leaving without the files," I said, tearing myself away from the driver. I grabbed the laptop and the leather folder from the desk.
"There's no time!" the man yelled.
Heavy footsteps thundered down the hallway. The front door was kicked open. The woman in the white dress looked at me one last time. There was no fear in her eyes anymore—only a strange kind of peace.
"Go through the cellar," she said, pointing to a rug on the floor. "There is a tunnel that leads to the shore. I will slow them down."
"You'll die," I said, frozen in place.
"I died twenty years ago, Zoya," she replied with a sad smile. "Give David a message for me. Tell him the masterpiece is finally free."
The driver didn't wait. He kicked aside the rug, revealing a wooden trapdoor. He shoved me down into the dark, damp hole just as the study door burst open. The last thing I saw was a flash of black uniforms and the woman standing tall, facing the soldiers with her head held high.
The tunnel was narrow and smelled of salt and old earth. I crawled through the darkness, clutching the laptop to my chest. Every muscle in my body ached, but I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Finally, we emerged into a small cove hidden by the cliffs. A small boat was waiting in the water. The rain was pouring now, turning the sand into thick mud. I scrambled into the boat, shivering violently.
The man started the motor, and we sped away from the cliff. I looked back and saw the cottage engulfed in flames. Another explosion lit up the night sky. The woman was gone. The only proof of my past was burning to ashes.
I opened the leather folder, trying to find anything that would help me understand David's last message. The Red Room. What did it mean?
As I flipped through the pages, a small, handwritten map fell out. It wasn't a map of London or Cornwall. It was a layout of Blackwood Manor. Deep beneath the basement, there was a room marked in red ink.
But that wasn't what caught my eye. Glued to the back of the map was a photo of two teenagers standing in front of a school. One was David, looking younger and less haunted. Beside him was a girl with dark hair and a bright smile.
They were holding hands. It wasn't the look of a brother and sister. It was the look of two people in love.
I turned the photo over. On the back, in my father's handwriting, were the words:
David and Eleanor. Summer before the accident.
If David loved Eleanor, and I was created to be Eleanor... then what was I to him? And if he wasn't my brother, then who was the man who claimed to be my father?
The boat hit a large wave, and I nearly lost my grip on the folder. I realized then that my father hadn't just lied about David. He had lied about everything.
"Where are we going?" I asked the driver, my voice cold and hollow.
The man looked at me, his scarred face illuminated by a lightning strike. "We're going back to the start, Zoya. We're going back to Blackwood Manor. That's where Arthur is taking David."
"He's going to kill him, isn't he?"
"Worse," the man said. "He's going to use David to activate the sequence. And once that happens, you won't be Zoya anymore. You'll be a vessel for a ghost."
I looked down at the photo of Eleanor. She looked so happy, so full of life. I felt a surge of anger I had never felt before. I wasn't a vessel. I wasn't a masterpiece. I was a person.
"Turn the boat around," I commanded.
"What?"
"We aren't just going to Blackwood," I said, my eyes hardening. "We're going to burn it down. All of it."
The driver looked at me in surprise, but then he nodded. He turned the boat toward the horizon, where the storm was the thickest.
I sat back, clutching the secret map. I didn't know if I could save David. I didn't even know if I should love him or hate him. But I knew one thing for certain.
The girl who left London was a victim. The girl returning was a weapon.
[To be continued in Chapter 10...]