ELLEN POV
The blue glow of Narion's monitors paints half his face in cold light. Lines of code slide across the screens like river water—relentless, quiet, and dangerous in a way most people never learn to read.
"Tell me you're not serious," Narion mutters without turning. "That site isn't just another forum, Ellen. It's a vault. Whoever built it wanted it buried for a reason."
I drop the folder onto his desk. The thud sounds too loud in the hum of the room. Inside, the photos wait: three men in lab coats, younger in those frames, smiles that belonged to ordinary days. I've crossed each of their faces out in red ink until the paper looks like a map of blood.
"They worked under Clayton Enterprises' Project Helios," I say, and my voice comes out smaller than I mean. "All three went missing. Two were found dead in the river. The last one... vanished."
Clyde leans forward, jaw tight. "And you think this 'dark site' holds their files?"
"I don't think," I correct him. The word tastes like an accusation. "I know. The encryption key on their servers matches one hidden in Clayton's old contracts. Someone buried everything online the night they were silenced."
Narion turns then, the glow cutting sharp lines across his face. "You realize what you're asking me to do? That database is shielded by military-grade blackfire encryption. If I touch it wrong, it'll burn every trace of us."
I meet his eyes because if I look away I'll show him how scared I am. "Then don't touch it wrong," I tell him, the words firm enough that I almost convince myself.
Silence presses in, heavy and expectant. The machines hum, a living thing that waits to see which way we'll jump.
Clyde exhales, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Ellen, if this goes south, Clayton's people won't just sue—they'll erase us. You're chasing ghosts."
I step closer, close enough to feel the static pulse from the wiring. "Those ghosts were people," I say. "Someone at Clayton killed them to protect a secret. I won't stop until I know why."
Narion's expression shifts; for a second the sarcasm drops and something like resignation comes through. "You always drag me into your suicide missions."
A laugh tries to wedge between my ribs—short, brittle. "You love it," I say, and it's the truth that keeps my hands from trembling.
Clyde leans back, surrendering the argument. "Fine. We do it your way. But once we go in… there's no coming back."
I look at the screens as lines of code begin to blink and settle, the doorway they open a darkness in itself. My reflection stares back faintly from the monitor—set jaw, eyes bright with a dangerous kind of focus.
"Then let's begin," I say. The words are a promise, a warning, and a prayer all at once.
NARION POV
The hum of the processors was louder tonight—or maybe that was just my pulse trying to sync with the machines. I told myself I'd done this before: breach, trace, vanish. But this wasn't a freelance gig or a test of skill. This was Ellen's crusade, and somehow I'd signed up for it.
Lines of code scrolled across my main screen, each one a step closer to the dark address Ellen had given me. A hidden node, masked under six layers of encryption that smelled corporate—too precise, too clean. Clyde hovered near the terminal, his reflection caught in the glass like a ghost waiting for bad news.
"You sure about this?" he asked.
"No," I muttered. "But we're past the point of sure."
The first firewall fell after a calculated delay—whoever built it wanted to scare off amateurs. A low static filled my headset, like whispers tangled in the frequency. I ignored it, fingers dancing over the keys, until the final cipher opened to a black screen with a single line of text.
WELCOME BACK, PROJECT HELIOS USER.
Clyde swore under his breath. "They know we're here."
"Not yet," I said automatically, though my gut twisted. The system hadn't rejected me—it greeted me. As if it was expecting someone. As if I belonged.
Ellen stood behind us now, silent, eyes fixed on the screen. "What does it mean?"
"It means," I said carefully, "someone used your access key before. Recently."
"The big mistake they have ever made!" Ellen muttered.
The monitors flickered. For half a second, I saw a face—blurred, watching—then the image was gone, replaced by rows of encrypted archives tagged with classified project codes.
A soft chill crawled down my neck. "This isn't just a database," I whispered. "It's alive. It's monitoring everything."
Ellen leaned in. "Can you extract the files?"
I hesitated. The code pulsed like a heartbeat, and deep down, I knew if I touched the wrong line, the system wouldn't just burn—it would bite.
"What if-"
She gave me a cold look.
I just shrugged my head.
"I can," I said finally, forcing the words out. "But whatever's in there… it doesn't want to be found."
Outside, a low rumble of thunder rolled through the city—perfect timing. Or maybe just another warning.
ELLEN POV
The thunder outside rolled closer, shaking the windows. The sound mingled with the hum of Narion's processors until I couldn't tell which pulse belonged to the storm—and which to the machines.
"Do it," I said, though my voice didn't sound like my own.
Narion's fingers flew over the keyboard. The screen filled with cascading lines of code, decrypting layer after layer until the black turned into a forest of files—timestamps, reports, data logs, each one stamped with Project Helios.
Clyde leaned beside me, eyes darting. "What are we looking at?"
"Everything," Narion murmured. "From start to finish."
He opened the first folder, and for a moment, I could almost believe we were in control. Then the screen burst white, blinding, and the text twisted into nonsense symbols that crawled like insects across the display.
Clyde swore. "What is that?"
"Countermeasure," Narion said, voice clipped. "Somebody's still connected on the other end."
A chill moved through me. "Keep going," I said. "Whatever they're hiding, we need to see it."
The code flickered, warped, then settled. A single document header flashed before the screen glitched again.
PROJECT HELIOS: HUMAN INTERFACE SYNTHESIS. SUBJECT FILE—S. SELEXA.
My heart stuttered. "Wait… what?"
Narion looked at me sharply. "Ellen, that's shin."
"No, that's—there has to be a mistake." I leaned closer, my reflection shaking in the light.
Before I could finish, the file expanded. An image appeared—grainy, timestamped three years ago. A laboratory. White walls. Equipment I didn't recognize. And me, standing beside one of the missing researchers.
Clyde stepped back, disbelief in his voice. "Ellen… what is this?"
"I don't know," I whispered. But even as I said it, a memory tugged at the edges of my mind—a flash of light, a sterile room, the smell of metal. "Narion, cut the connection. Now."
"I can't," he said, panic threading through his words. "It's locking us in. The system's replicating our data—hell, it's replicating us."
Then the monitor went still.
A single line of text appeared at the center of the black screen, burning like a brand.
ACCESS CONFIRMED. WELCOME HOME, SHIN.
The room went silent except for the rain hammering the windows. On the monitor, my name glowed steady and patient—like it had been waiting for me all this time.
Narion turned slowly toward me. "Ellen… what did they do to Shin?"
I didn't answer. Because deep down, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.