The silence after the collapse of the loop wasn't peaceful—it was heavy, like a lid pressed tight over a boiling pot.
Orion sat on the edge of a med-pod, her hands wrapped around a mug of something hot she hadn't tasted. Across the room, the Variant—her Variant—paced slowly, taking in the flickering lights and humming machines of LUCENT's safe zone. It felt... awkward. Not hostile, but far from natural. Like seeing a version of yourself you might've become if things had gone just a little differently. A few wrong choices. A few harder years.
Lucy kept glancing between the two of them, biting her thumbnail. Layla had said nothing since they pulled Orion out. And Cole—he stood with his arms crossed at the door, like a sentry who didn't trust anyone anymore.
"So," Lucy finally said, forcing a smile, "we rescued a timeline-fractured version of Orion with god-tier memory and possibly the last copy of the Prime Directive. That's... a new one."
No one laughed.
