Chapter 22 – The Black Notebook
The storm began just after dusk.
The first drops of rain slid through the broken slats of the windmill roof, pattering softly on the dusty floorboards as Erica sat cross-legged beside the open journal. The smell of wet wood and salt filled the air. Lightning flickered once, throwing her reflection against the metal walls — pale, tired, but determined.
She turned to the first page written in her father's hand.
His pen strokes were neat, deliberate, every word carrying weight.
Project ECHO was never meant to be weaponized.
We sought to map decision patterns, to predict danger, to save lives — but the board wanted control. Dylan warned me early, but I didn't listen.
If they find this record, they'll destroy it — and us with it.
Erica's throat tightened. She could almost hear his voice in the rhythm of the writing, calm but desperate. She kept reading.
The test subjects showed emotional divergence — unpredictable outcomes the system couldn't process. One of them was my daughter.
She froze.
The light trembled in her hands as she skimmed the lines that followed. The experiments weren't physical — they were neurological projections, based on digital simulations. Her father had connected her early childhood responses to the prototype, believing it would help refine human-like intuition in AI.
But it went too far.
She was never supposed to be aware of the link. If she remembers, her pattern will collapse, and ECHO will lose its anchor point.
If this happens, only Dylan can stabilize it.
Her mind reeled. Anchor point.Pattern collapse. It sounded like a system — or something more than human consciousness could grasp.
She flipped through more pages, finding Dylan's handwriting near the end. His words were rougher, faster, like they'd been written under pressure.
They've turned it into a weapon of prediction. They want to use it to pre-empt human behavior — control markets, governments, even thoughts.
I can't let that happen. I'll take the blame if I have to.
If Erica finds this — she'll know I didn't leave her father behind. I stayed to make sure she'd survive.
Her fingers trembled as she traced the ink.
He'd stayed for her. He'd always stayed.
Lightning flashed again outside, and thunder rolled across the cliffs.
Erica closed the notebook slowly, clutching it to her chest.
For the first time, she understood the full weight of what Dylan had been carrying — the guilt, the secrecy, the quiet protectiveness behind his every command. It wasn't control. It was sacrifice.
The windmill creaked with the storm's weight, but inside, she felt something settle — resolve.
She wasn't just running anymore.
She was fighting back.
Miles away, Dylan sat in a dim room that smelled of metal and rain. He had managed to break free of the restraints, his wrists raw but his focus unbroken. A small terminal glowed beside him — one he'd hacked from his captors' equipment.
On the screen, a map blinked faintly, showing the coordinates of active sensors.
One near the cliffs.
One — the windmill.
He smiled faintly. "You found it, didn't you?"
The smile faded when he saw another signal converge on her location — fast, closing in.
He began typing, overriding the mainframe, redirecting signals to throw them off. It bought her minutes — maybe less — but it would be enough.
He whispered to himself, "Hold on, Erica. Just hold on."
Back at the windmill, the storm raged harder. Erica packed the notebook into her bag, tightened her jacket, and stepped outside. The rain soaked her instantly, but she didn't care. Somewhere deep inside, something had shifted — fear replaced by fierce determination.
She looked out toward the distant hills, lightning illuminating the power lines stretching like veins into the horizon.
That was where she'd go next.
Where the truth waited.
Where Dylan would be.
She whispered into the storm, her voice carried by the wind.
"I'm coming."
To be continued....
By chizzy