POV: Meher
There's a type of silence that isn't peaceful.Not empty.Not calm.
But waiting.
Like the world is holding its breath because it knows something is about to break—but hasn't decided who dies first.
That's the silence we're in now.
The facility has powered down into standby mode—lights dimmed, machinery dormant, systems humming low like a beast conserving energy after a kill.
Nivaan stands near the main terminal.Not moving.Not speaking.
Just… processing.
Kiyan sits cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone like Wi-Fi will suddenly return out of loyalty.
Avni is inventorying weapons like she's prepping for a war she already saw happen.
And me?
I'm staring at Nivaan's back, trying to accept the fact that the boy I once loved in coded messages and encrypted confessions is now… something else.
Something bigger.
Something terrifying.
Something necessary.
He finally speaks—voice quiet but absolute:
"We need rules."
Kiyan looks up, offended.
"Bro, we barely survived the boss fight and you want workplace policies?"
Avni shoots him a glare sharp enough to surgically remove his sense of humor.
I wait.
Because Nivaan doesn't talk unless he means something now.
"We aren't running anymore," he says. "We're not hiding. We're not reacting. We take control."
I fold my arms.
"And what does control look like to you?"
He turns—slow, intentional.
His gaze lands on me, and for a millisecond, I see the person before the collapse—the one who would laugh at my dark sarcasm and call my paranoia 'hot.'
Then it's gone.
Replaced by the Sovereign.
"Control means knowing who's coming… and who's already here."
A cold ripple runs through me.
"Meaning?"
Nivaan takes a slow breath.
When he answers, his words slice clean:
"One of us is already compromised."
Silence.Not shock—instinct.Everyone freezes.
Kiyan is the first to react.
"…Define compromised."
"Someone here," Nivaan says, "has communicated with The Origin. Recently."
My pulse spikes—but my face stays neutral.
"How do you know?"
His hand lifts to the implant beneath his skin—the one glowing faintly like a star trapped under bone.
"The system recognizes familiar signals," he says. "Someone has been feeding it information."
Kiyan mutters:
"Oh great. Imposter mode unlocked."
Avni doesn't flinch.
Her voice is calm enough to be dangerous.
"Accusations are useless without proof."
"And proof," Nivaan replies, "is exactly what I'm about to get."
The wall behind him shifts—panels sliding open, revealing a suspended piece of tech that looks too advanced to exist in this century.
A neural resonance scanner.
I swallow.
Because I've seen that machine used before.
It doesn't detect lies.
It detects loyalty.
Kiyan stands.
"Okay hold up—are we doing a sci-fi trust fall or a full Big Brother interrogation arc here? Because I did NOT sign up for cult initiation."
No one laughs.
Not even him.
Nivaan gestures to the scanner.
"One at a time."
Avni steps forward without hesitation.
Of course she does.
She's either innocent—or so confident in her secrets that fear is beneath her.
The machine hums.
Light scans across her skin.
Her pulse flickers on the screen.
Then a single line appears:
UNAFFILIATED.RISK: STRATEGIC.LOYALTY: CONDITIONAL.
She steps out.
Expression unreadable.
Kiyan goes next—hands raised like he's about to be arrested for tax fraud.
The scan completes.
UNAFFILIATED.RISK: EMOTIONAL.LOYALTY: HUMAN.
Kiyan exhales so loudly the facility should echo.
"See?? I'm a golden retriever with trauma—not a traitor."
Now it's my turn.
My jaw tightens.
I walk toward the scanner.
Not slow.Not hesitant.
Just ready.
The machine activates.
Light crawls across my skin—warm, invasive, intimate in a way technology should never be.
Then the result burns onto the display.
CONNECTED.RISK: UNKNOWN.LOYALTY: UNDETERMINED.
Kiyan whispers:
"…uh. That looks bad."
Avni's hand drifts toward her gun.
My voice stays even.
"Explain."
Nivaan steps closer—too close.
His presence is gravity.
"It means," he says quietly, "you have been in contact with someone who carries the Origin signature."
My throat closes.
Not fear.
Recognition.
A memory.
A voice in the dark.
A warning whispered like prophecy:
"You're not the only one hunting him."
My heart drops.
Nivaan sees the shift in my face—and his tone sharpens.
"Who is it, Meher?"
I open my mouth.
But before I can speak—
The facility lights flicker.
Not randomly.
In a pattern.
A code.
A message.
A voice overlays the room—glitching through every speaker.
Not The Origin.
Not mechanical.
Familiar.
Human.
"Miss me?"
Nivaan goes still.
Avni draws her gun.
Kiyan backs up like the universe just threatened his tax returns.
And I?
My blood turns cold.
Because I know that voice.
I know the person behind it.
And I know one truth none of them saw coming—
The traitor isn't among us.The traitor is coming for us.