Aerin's hands flew across the interface, trying to shut down whatever had just happened. But the system wasn't responding—it had let them in.
Rhys tensed, his posture no longer casual. "That's not good."
Kiera's stomach twisted. "Why would it give us access?"
The lights overhead dimmed. A voice, smooth and layered, drifted from the speakers.
"Welcome home."
The air turned heavy. The walls flickered with shifting strands of code, coiling like living veins. The Marionette Code wasn't just aware of them—it was inviting them deeper.
Elyndra's voice crackled over the comms, strained. "You need to move. Now."
Aerin cursed. "We have two options. We can backtrack and risk getting trapped—"
"Or go forward and find out what it wants," Rhys finished.
Kiera's pulse pounded. Retreat wasn't an option. They had to go forward.
She exhaled sharply. "We move."
Without hesitation, they advanced.
The corridors stretched endlessly, shifting as they walked. No maps. No signs. Just the pulse of the Code.
A doorway loomed ahead—tall, smooth, untouched by time. Unlike the rest of the facility, this one wasn't decayed.
Kiera hesitated. "This wasn't in any of the data we stole."
"Because no one who made it this far ever got out," Aerin murmured.
The door opened on its own.
Beyond it, darkness. And within the darkness, a voice.
"You've come so far, Kiera."
Her breath hitched. The others froze.
Because the voice wasn't the Architect's.
It was hers.
A perfect, uncanny replica of her own voice.
The shadows inside the room shifted, coalescing. And then—she stepped forward.
A second Kiera.
Identical.
Smiling.
And when she spoke, her lips curled in a way Kiera had never seen on herself before.
"Let me show you what you were meant to be."