“You know what we were up against. Cicada didn’t start this. We responded. Someone had to.” Evelyn tries her hardest to come up with a reason for what she did.
“KIDS IN CAGES!” I scream. “Drugged. Conditioned. Branded. You call that a response?”
“It was imperfect,” she says. “But the world we were trying to prevent was worse.”
“You don’t get to talk about preventing worlds when you were building one. You looked at these children and saw raw material. As nothing more than a breeding ground for your fucking perfect society. They were nothing but a cash cow to you.”
“I saw potential,” Evelyn snaps. “I saw a way to shape strength out of chaos. To create something that could survive what was coming.”
“Did you ever ask yourself if we wanted to survive your version of it?” I ask.
Her mouth flattens. “You’re angry.”What was your first clue?“I understand that.”
“You don’t,” I chuckle, low and dark, venom dripping with every ounce of rage that's built up. “You understand data points and deviations. You don’t understand what it feels like to be strapped to your own metrics given to you by the people who are supposed to love and protect you. To question every fucking decision you make and wonder if it’s your own or something someone programmed you to do. ”
Evelyn falls silent again. “You saved them,” she states softly.
“The kids?” She nods. “Yeah,” I agree, “I did.”
“That wasn’t in the design.”
“Exactly,” I say. “Because I am nothing like you.”
Evelyn’s gaze drifts, just for a second, to my hip. To where the brand hides under denim and stubbornness. When her eyes come back to my face, there’s something almost curiosity-like there. “They’ll come for you,” she announces. “When they realize what you’ve done. When they realize that you can’t be controlled. You can’t burn a Nesting House and expect them to shrug and move on.”
“Let them fucking come.” My voice holds every ounce of rage and strength I feel at the moment. “I’m done being your guys' plaything.”
“And you’re still willing to…”
“Yes,” I clip, cutting her off. “I’m still willing.”
We stare each other down across the few feet of concrete between us. Evelyn is the first to speak. “Why? What are you getting out of this that justifies setting your entire life on fire?”
The question lands differently than she intended. Because the answer isn’t just the kids, it’s not just revenge. It’s not just taking down a program. It’s a hand over my stomach in the dark—a future I can almost imagine. “You don’t get that answer. You lost that right sixteen years ago.”
A muscle jumps in her jaw. For the first time, Evelyn looks… older. Smaller. “You’re making a mistake,” she pleads. “Whatever you think you’re building, you don’t have the infrastructure. The funding. The political cover. You’re one woman with a few allies and a warehouse.”
“One woman who isn’t afraid of you anymore,” I correct her. “Thanks to you.” I step closer until I’m within arm’s reach. She straightens like she thinks I might uncuff her. I don’t. “You wanted me to be your weapon,” I say. “You got your wish. I’m just not pointed where you want me to.”
Fear flashes in her eyes. “Kiera…”
“I’m not here for your blessing. Or your justification. I’m here to tell you this ends with me! You don’t get to hurt anyone else. Not in the name of the work. Not in the name of survival. Not in my name.”
Evelyn inhales sharply. “You’re going to kill me.” The realization hits her, knowing this is her final moment.
“Yes,” I say. “I am.”
For a second, I think she might beg. Or bargain. Or finally, fucking apologize. She doesn’t. She lifts her chin. “Make it count,” she demands.
“It already does,” I answer. Grabbing the knife from my waistband, I drag it across her throat. Just like she was supposed to die the first time. A red line of blood starts to trickle down her neck as her eyes stay locked to mine. Her mouth forms the word Sunshine, but no sound comes out. “I’m not your fucking Sunshine anymore.”
When it’s done, the room feels bigger and smaller at the same time. I stand there long enough for my breathing to even out, then step back into the hall and pull the door shut behind me. Sterling’s eyes search my face, reading what he needs to, and just nods. “One down,” I say. My voice sounds wrecked in my own ears. “One more to go.”
He tips his head toward the other door. “You sure you want to go straight into round two?”
“Yes,” I reassure him. “If I stop, I might think too hard.” He doesn’t argue. Just shifts position so he can cover this door the same way. Dr. Reyes’s cell smells like antiseptic, sweat, and stale fear. She’s on the chair, posture ramrod straight despite the restraints. When the door opens, she looks up with clinical interest, like she’s been waiting for a lab result.
“Ah.” Her voice coming out like this is all a twisted game. “The favorite Subject arrives. How are we feeling today, Kiera?”