Two vessels. One voice. No way back.
Ava didn't move at first. The shatter event hadn't left debris—it left mirrors. The Core Vault was no longer solid beneath her. What had once been polished alloy and breathing light now existed as something else entirely: a refracting storm of overlapping identities and broken-time perception.
She blinked once. The world didn't refresh. It rewound.
One moment, her hands were braced against the pulsing floor. The next—she was floating.
Inside the cradle again.
Suspended in embryonic fluid. Limbs unformed. Mind blank. And yet… she was awake.
Not like before. Not how she'd remembered being born. This was lucid. Real.
She felt the weight of the fluid pressing on her skin. Heard the distant hum of Solaris's voice filtered through containment glass. She saw his hand resting gently on the cradle—only this time, he wasn't looking at her.
He was looking at the cradle across the room.
At Echo.
