The rotors hummed low above the mountain range, slicing through the dawn mist as the stealth-craft soared toward the western border. Inside, the cabin was silent—too silent.
Alina cradled the girl in her arms like porcelain. She hadn't said a word since whispering "Mommy" back in the lab. Her eyes remained half-lidded, observing but not reacting, as if her mind was still decoding reality.
"She's stable," Rafe said, checking vitals on a portable monitor. "Barely. But she'll need full-body regulation treatment within 48 hours or her neural system might collapse."
"Then we take her to my lab," Alina said without hesitation.
Leonard frowned. "You mean the off-grid one? The one even I don't have clearance for?"
Alina nodded. "Exactly that one."
"She's not Lily, you know," he said quietly.
Alina's arms stiffened. "I know."
"But she looks like her. Sounds like her."
"She's not her," Alina repeated, firmer this time.
"She called you Mommy."
"That's what Elara programmed her to say."
Leonard didn't reply. Because deep down, he wasn't sure what this girl was. Clone, ghost, or something worse—a mirror that remembered too much.
Six hours later – Hidden Laboratory, beneath Marseille, France
The chamber hissed open.
Walls of glass. Crystalline computers lining every corner. This was no ordinary lab—it was the sanctum Alina had built before Lily was even born. A place untouched by any nation, any database, any eyes.
Rafe rolled the stretcher through the decontamination tunnel. The girl lay on top, quiet and still, hooked up to a slow-drip IV of synthetic stabilizer.
"She's metabolizing faster than expected," he muttered.
"That's not a good thing," Alina said.
Leonard stared at the scans displayed above the chamber. Neural pathways were lighting up in real-time. Cognitive activity spiked each time someone said her name.
"She's remembering," Alina whispered.
"But how?" Leonard asked. "Memories are stored in the hippocampus. Lily's was destroyed in the incident two years ago. There were no preserved fragments."
"She's not remembering Lily's past," Alina said slowly. "She's creating her own."
Inside the med-pod, the girl blinked slowly, watching the lights above her change color from blue to gold.
Images flickered behind her eyes.
A birthday cake.
A red ribbon.
A fall down a staircase—someone screaming her name.
"Lily," a voice echoed from within.
She turned her head.
And in the glass reflection, she saw two versions of herself—one crying, one smiling.
"Who… am I?"
Meanwhile – Back in Zurich
Elara stood before a wall-sized display, watching as files uploaded to secure satellite storage.
A man approached her, dressed in gray. Face obscured. Voice synthetic.
"She's been extracted."
Elara nodded. "Yes. As expected."
"You let her go."
"She was never meant to stay. The real test isn't containment—it's attachment."
The man stepped closer. "So we wait?"
"No. We escalate."
He handed her a case. Inside were seven glass vials, each labeled with dates and DNA sequence numbers.
"Send in the other prototypes," Elara said. "Let's see which one she bonds to."
Marseille – The Hidden Lab
The girl—who now answered when someone said "Lily"—was sitting up.
Wrapped in a clean blanket. Her eyes were clearer now. Sharper.
She was looking at Alina.
"You're my mom, right?"
Alina inhaled.
The voice was Lily's. The cadence, the tone. It cracked through her chest like a chisel against stone.
"I'm… I was her mother," she replied.
"But I'm her," the girl said. "Aren't I?"
"You look like her."
"I feel like her."
Alina looked into her eyes. There was something new now. Not a child's innocence, but a hunger. For answers. Identity.
Leonard interrupted the moment. "She's bonding too fast. That's not natural."
"She's adapting to expectation," Rafe added. "She knows what you want, Alina."
Alina turned. "And what do I want, Rafe?"
"Lily," he said. "You want your daughter back. But this girl… she isn't just mimicking her. She's becoming her."
"Isn't that the point?" Leonard asked.
"No," Alina said. "The point was never to replace Lily."
She stood, backing away from the girl.
"I created Lily. Not in a lab—but through every story I told her, every time I held her when she was sick, every second I chose to love her."
She turned to Leonard.
"This girl doesn't need a copy of Lily's life. She needs her own."
That night, in the observation room, the girl sat alone, sketching circles on a touchscreen.
Alina watched from behind the one-way glass.
"She hasn't asked about her name again," Leonard noted.
"She's waiting for me to say it first."
"Will you?"
Alina didn't answer.
Instead, she turned to Rafe.
"I need access to the failed prototype logs."
Rafe blinked. "Why?"
"Because Elara never wastes material. If this girl was Prototype 9, where are 1 through 8?"
"You think they're active?"
"I think they were designed to interact with her. Elara's experiments always came in sets—mirrored variables. She created Lily 2.0. But who's 2.1, 2.2, 2.3…?"
Leonard's eyes narrowed. "What if they're already awake?"
Alina turned to the glass. The girl looked up as if she'd heard.
"I need to talk to her alone."
Inside the room
Alina stepped in and closed the door.
The girl was humming. A soft tune that sounded oddly familiar—Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, in Mandarin.
Alina sat beside her.
"Where did you hear that song?"
The girl shrugged. "In a dream."
Alina smiled softly. "What else do you dream of?"
"A boy," the girl said. "He's older. He has red gloves. He says he's my brother."
Alina froze. "What's his name?"
The girl thought. "He never tells me. But he cries a lot. He says we're not safe."
Alina's throat tightened. "Have you seen him outside your dreams?"
"No. But I know he's real."
That confirmed it.
Elara had activated another prototype—and connected them psychically using neural echo threads.
"Do you… want a name?" Alina asked carefully.
The girl turned, eyes glowing with quiet intensity. "Will you give me one? Or are you still afraid I'm not her?"
Alina swallowed hard. "You're not her."
The girl didn't flinch.
"But that's okay," Alina continued. "You're still you. And that's enough."
The girl nodded slowly.
"Then I want a name."
Alina smiled. For the first time in days, it felt real.
"How about… Mira?"
The girl repeated it slowly. "Mira."
Alina nodded. "It means 'mirror.' But also 'peace' in Latin."
Mira smiled.
"I like it."
Outside the lab, a silent drone hovered in the clouds.
Inside, thermal scanners tracked Mira's body movements.
Coordinates transmitted.
Signal locked.