Dominic didn't come back the first night.
Not the next day either.
Amelia kept staring at the empty space in the observatory, half-expecting to see him standing there in that signature silence of his—arms crossed, jaw clenched, eyes full of judgment. But it remained empty, as if the air itself refused to remember what had happened between the three of them.
And in her chest, something fragile started to splinter.
Eris checked on her the next morning.
"You've barely eaten," she said, balancing a tray of food on her hip. "Did you sleep?"
Amelia gave a thin smile. "Does it matter?"
"You kissed him."
Amelia stiffened. "Don't start."
Eris didn't blink. "You kissed him, and
Dominic saw. So yes, it matters. To all of us."
She set the tray down, her voice lowering.
"You think you're cracking. I think you're already cracked."
Amelia's lips parted to respond, but her breath hitched instead. Her fingers trembled. Not from fear. Not from guilt. From something deeper. Something shifting.
"I don't know who I am anymore," she whispered.
Eris crouched beside her, voice gentler now. "Then let's figure it out before someone else decides for you."
Dominic returned on the second night.
He walked into the war room with no fanfare, no explanation. He was clean, in uniform, hair damp from the rain. The only thing out of place was his eyes—too still, too cold. Like the man she knew had turned himself off.
Amelia met him there.
"I was wrong," she said.
Dominic didn't look at her. "You made a choice."
"It wasn't a choice," she said quickly. "It was a moment. A mistake."
He finally turned to face her. "A mistake you've made before."
The sting hit deeper than she expected.
"You told me you loved me, Amelia. Not just the version of me that fit into your resistance fantasy—but me. The one who sees the ugly, the broken, the unraveling—and stays anyway."
"I still—"
"You still kissed him."
Amelia's throat locked. She had no words, only the rising sensation that something vital was slipping between them, falling through cracks too wide to bridge.
Dominic stepped closer.
"But I don't blame you," he said softly. "I blame them."
She frowned. "Them?"
"The ones who made you. Rewired you.
Modified you to bond with Echo and survive the bridge and still walk upright. This—" he gestured between them, "—this isn't your fault. It's programming."
Her heart stuttered. "You think I'm broken."
"I think they built you to love multiple men, Amelia. Or maybe to love no one at all. I don't know what part of you is real anymore."
She slapped him.
Not hard. But enough.
His face didn't move. But something behind his eyes flickered.
"Whatever I am," she said, voice raw, "I still feel. Every scar. Every kiss. Every betrayal. I am not your science project."
He turned away.
And walked out again.
Kestrel found her in the lower archives later that night, surrounded by scattered files. Her hands were shaking as she read the name again and again.
PROJECT HEARTGLASS: Subject 001-A
The document bore her birthdate.
She looked up at Kestrel as he approached.
"Did you know?" she asked.
"No."
"Don't lie to me."
Kestrel hesitated. "I knew there were backups. Alternate protocols. But not this."
"It says I wasn't supposed to survive the bridge alone," she whispered. "I was meant to be… merged. With Echo. With someone like her. Half flesh. Half code."
"And yet you did survive."
She stood up, voice cracking. "What if the bridge didn't change me? What if it activated me?"
He stepped forward. "Then we work with who you are now."
"And if that version isn't someone either of you can love?"
Kestrel's hand reached for hers but stopped just short.
"I'm not in love with you because of who you were," he said. "Or even who you are now. I'm in love with the way you fight for yourself, even when the world keeps rewriting your code."
She blinked, stunned by the honesty in his voice.
"You love me?" she asked, barely audible.
"I think I always did," he said. "But I didn't know how to name it before. Not until it was too late."
For a second, Amelia wanted to fall into him.
But something inside her twisted. Echo stirred.
"He loves the survivor," Echo whispered. "Not the shadow."
Amelia turned away. "I don't know who I am without all this chaos."
Kestrel whispered behind her, "Then let's find out. Together."
Somewhere in the depths of the monastery, Dominic sat alone in a sealed control room.
He watched old footage of Amelia as a child. Not laughing. Not playing. Training.
Responding to tests. Reflex, voice, emotional latency.
He fast-forwarded to her first Mirror exposure. Watched the seizure. Watched the scar on her spine bloom like a red flower.
Then paused on a file marked HEARTGLASS FAILSAFE – CLASSIFIED.
He opened it.
And read the words aloud:
"If Subject 001 begins to destabilize emotionally, activate the failsafe sequence to purge emotional variance. Subject will retain functionality but lose autonomous romantic or empathetic response."
He stared at the command button.
The word PURGE glowed in red.
He didn't touch it.
But he didn't close it either.