Three months.
Ninety days.
Two thousand one hundred sixty hours of freedom.
Scarlett counted them all.
She sat in a café in Prague.
Window seat.
Back to the wall.
Coffee cold.
Passport Canadian.
Name unfamiliar even to her.
The message had arrived at dawn.
Unknown number.
Same as always.
Different this time.
She's found you. Run. Or fight. Choose.
Scarlett didn't run.
Didn't fight.
Waited.
Calculated.
The template.
The original.
The woman she was copied from.
Three months of searching.
Three months of dead ends.
Three months of being hunted by ghosts.
Now the ghost had a name.
Elena Vance.
Not the floor manager.
Not the ally.
Another Elena.
The first Elena.
The one whose DNA built twelve daughters.
Twelve weapons.
Twelve failures.
Or successes.
Depending on who judged.
---
The café door opened.
Scarlett's hand found the knife.
Under the table.
Concealed.
Legal here.
Barely.
The woman who entered was sixty.
Maybe seventy.
Surgical enhancements failing.
Skin too smooth.
Eyes too old.
But the face.
The bone structure.
The way she moved.
Scarlett's mirror.
Thirty years forward.
"May I?" The woman gestured to the chair.
"Do I have a choice?"
"Always. That's what I built you for."
Scarlett didn't stand.
Didn't welcome.
Watched.
Calculated.
"You don't look surprised," Elena said.
Sitting.
Ordering tea.
English breakfast.
No sugar.
Same as Scarlett would have chosen.
"I'm not."
"I expected fear. Anger. Questions."
"I have questions."
"Then ask."
Scarlett leaned forward.
Close enough to strike.
Close enough to die.
"Why?"
"Why make you?"
"Why make twelve of me? Why train us? Why sell us?"
Elena sipped her tea.
Delicate.
Precise.
Manufactured grace.
"I didn't sell you. Vincent did. I only made you."
"Same thing?"
"Different guilt." Elena set down the cup.
Met Scarlett's eyes.
Green to green.
Original to copy.
"Vincent needed soldiers. I needed... continuation. Immortality of a kind. We compromised."
"Twelve daughters."
"Twelve chances. Twelve experiments. Twelve ways to improve the design."
"And Claire? The escape? The fire?"
"Also design." Elena's smile was cold.
Calculated.
Proud.
"Claire was the test. Could a manufactured soldier survive independently? Could she build her own network? Her own power?"
"She did."
"She did." Pride in the voice.
Real.
Horrifying.
"And you. The final model. The most successful. The one who destroyed everything we built."
"Not everything."
Elena's smile widened.
"Not everything," she agreed.
"Not me."
---
The café was empty.
Scarlett noticed too late.
Staff gone.
Customers gone.
Just them.
The original.
The copy.
The trap.
"You didn't come to kill me," Scarlett said.
Not a question.
"How do you know?"
"Because you could have. Any time. Three months. Any city. Any night."
"Perhaps I was being careful."
"Perhaps you wanted something else."
Elena laughed.
Musical.
Manufactured.
Like Claire's.
Like Scarlett's own.
"Vincent said you were perceptive. He underestimated you. As he underestimated everything he made."
"What do you want?"
"Help."
The word hung.
Wrong.
Impossible.
Scarlett's hand tightened on the knife.
"From me?"
"From the only one who succeeded. Who broke the system. Who became free."
"I became hunted."
"Same thing?"
"Different price."
Elena reached into her bag.
Slow.
Obvious.
Gave Scarlett time to react.
Time to kill.
She didn't.
The file landed on the table.
Thick.
Old.
Familiar.
"Vincent had partners," Elena said.
"Investors. The ones who funded the program. The ones who bought the failures."
"Claire said there were others. Beyond the Seven Houses."
"Claire was right." Elena opened the file.
Photos.
Names.
Locations.
All older.
All richer.
All more powerful.
"The Consortium. Twelve families. Global. Ancient. They don't run casinos or fight circuits. They run governments. Wars. History itself."
"And they want?"
"What Vincent promised. What I failed to deliver. What you destroyed." Elena's eyes were hard now.
Angry.
Afraid.
"Perfect soldiers. Undetectable. Loyal. Replaceable."
"They have me."
"They have copies. Inferior. Earlier models. Without your improvements. Without your... independence."
Scarlett understood.
Calculated.
The angle.
The trap.
The opportunity.
"You want me to destroy them."
"I want you to replace them."
"Same thing?"
"Different outcome." Elena stood.
Left the file.
Left the tea.
Left the future.
"Read it. Decide. I'll be in Vienna. One week. Same café. Same time."
She walked to the door.
Stopped.
Didn't turn.
"Your sisters. The surviving ones. Claire. The others you haven't met. They're being hunted. Not by me. By them. The Consortium cleans loose ends."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then you watch them die. One by one. Claire first. She's too visible. Too dangerous. Too much like you."
Scarlett didn't answer.
Elena left.
Into the Prague morning.
Into the world she controlled.
Or didn't.
Scarlett sat alone.
With the file.
With the choice.
With the war she thought she'd ended.
---
She read the file in three hours.
In a safe house.
Third location this week.
Never the same twice.
The Consortium was real.
Worse than Elena claimed.
Governments.
Corporations.
Military.
All connected.
All compromised.
All buying what Vincent sold.
What Elena made.
What Scarlett destroyed.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Different unknown.
She answered.
"You're considering it."
Dom's voice.
Deeper.
Harder.
Farther away.
"Considering what?"
"Going back. Becoming the weapon. Again."
"How did you—"
"I know you." Silence on the line.
Static.
Distance.
"I know you can't let them die. Claire. The others. Even Margaret. Even me."
"You're not in danger."
"Aren't I?" Dom laughed.
Short.
Bitter.
"I was Vincent's security chief. Elena's protector. The template's bodyguard. I'm on every list. Every target. Every death warrant."
"Where are you?"
"Berlin. For now. Moving tomorrow. Maybe Paris. Maybe nowhere."
"Meet me."
"Where?"
Scarlett calculated.
Odds.
Locations.
Timing.
"Vienna. Three days. The opera house. Not the one we burned. The real one."
"Elena?"
"Elena."
"Trap?"
"Obviously."
"And you're walking in?"
Scarlett smiled.
The cold one.
The new one.
The only one.
"I'm not walking in," she said.
"I'm bringing an army."
She hung up.
Dialed another number.
Jules answered on first ring.
"Scar?"
"I need servers. Global. Untraceable. Can you?"
"Already done. What are we broadcasting?"
"Everything. The Consortium. The program. The manufacturing. Every government. Every corporation. Every secret."
Silence.
Then: "That's suicide."
"That's war."
"Same thing?"
"Different legacy."
Jules laughed.
Nervous.
Excited.
Loyal.
"Where do I start?"
"Vienna. Three days. Bring everything."
"Everything?"
"Everything."
She hung up.
Dialed a third number.
Kai answered.
No greeting.
Just breathing.
Waiting.
"You owe me a night," Scarlett said.
"I owe you nothing."
"You bet on my survival. You won. Pay up."
"What do you want?"
"Information. The Consortium. Their finances. Their weaknesses. Their deaths."
"Expensive."
"Name your price."
Kai was silent.
Considering.
Calculating.
"The truth," he said finally.
"About what?"
"About you. The real you. Not the weapon. Not the soldier. The woman. What she wants. What she fears. What she loves."
"And if I don't know?"
"Then we find out together."
Scarlett closed her eyes.
Counted.
Breathed.
Chose.
"Fine. Vienna. Three days. Bring your best."
"I am my best."
She hung up.
Stood alone.
In the safe house.
In the war she didn't start.
But would finish.
Or die trying.
---
The file showed twelve sisters.
Not three.
Twelve survived.
Claire.
Scarlett.
And ten others.
Hidden.
Scattered.
Hunted.
She memorized their faces.
Their locations.
Their codes.
Then burned the file.
Literally.
Ashes in the sink.
Down the drain.
Gone.
But not forgotten.
Never forgotten.
Her phone buzzed.
Fourth message.
Fourth unknown.
Different this time.
A photo.
Claire.
Bound.
Bleeding.
Smiling.
The same smile.
The manufactured smile.
Text below: She talks too much. About you. About freedom. About choice. Come collect her. Or collect her ashes. 48 hours. Vienna. The address you know.
Scarlett didn't panic.
Didn't rage.
Calculated.
The trap was obvious.
The time pressure artificial.
The location specific.
They wanted her to rush.
To react.
To fail.
She wouldn't.
She opened her laptop.
Typed a message.
Encrypted.
Anonymous.
To all twelve.
Sisters. Weapons. Daughters. The war isn't over. The game continues. Choose: hide alone. Or fight together. Reply. Or don't. Survive. Or don't. But know: I choose fight. I choose you. Even if you don't choose me.
She sent it.
Closed the laptop.
Packed her bag.
Three days to Vienna.
Three days to prepare.
Three days to become what they feared.
Not the weapon.
Not the soldier.
The general.
The leader.
The crown that would not break.
Scarlett Vance walked out.
Into the Prague night.
Into the future.
Into the war.
The template had found her.
The Consortium had challenged her.
The sisters waited for her.
And somewhere in the dark.
In the cold.
In the hope.
Dom waited.
Jules waited.
Kai waited.
Even Claire.
Especially Claire.
The family she didn't choose.
The army she would build.
The war she would win.
Or the death she would accept.
Either way.
Finally.
Actually.
Completely.
Free.