The woman raised her right hand, casually swinging a heavy set of keys, and the morning sun caught the glint of a silver ring on her middle finger—the exact same signet ring Victoria’s grandmother had given her on her eighteenth birthday.
Victoria backed up a step, her heel catching on an exposed tree root. Her arms clamped tightly around Leo, whose quiet whimpers were the only sound in the dead silence of the forest edge. «Who are you?» Victoria choked out, her knees trembling beneath her weight. «What is this?»
The duplicate chuckled softly, taking a slow, deliberate step forward across the crunching gravel. «I’m the version of you that didn’t let Evelyn play her for a fool. I’m the version that survived Project 10.»
A sharp, metallic click echoed behind Victoria.
Mia staggered out of the utility drain mouth, covered in mud and crimson wine stains, her face deadly pale. But she wasn’t looking at the duplicate. Mia had a small, concealed revolver pointed directly at the back of Victoria’s head.
«I’m sorry, Victoria,» Mia whispered, her voice shaking violently, tears cutting clean lines through the soot on her cheeks. «She promised me my brother would be released if I brought you to the perimeter.»
Victoria’s breath hitched in her chest. Every anchor of trust she had left shattered in an instant. The girl who had helped her escape through the dumbwaiter, who had bled beside her on the quartz counter—she had been leading her straight into the trap all along.
150 words.
«Hand over the Geneva card, Victoria,» the duplicate commanded, reaching into her inner jacket pocket and pulling out a small black device that hummed with a low electromagnetic pulse. «And give Mia the child. Leo doesn’t belong to you anyway.»
Victoria felt the temperature in her veins drop to absolute zero. «What did you just say?»
«You really thought you gave birth to him six months ago at Saint Jude’s?» The duplicate smiled, a cold, empty expression that made Victoria’s stomach turn upside down. «Check his right shoulder. Behind the birthmark. You were under anesthesia for forty-eight hours, Victoria. You never had a son. He’s the first viable specimen of the compound your father built.»
Leo let out a sudden, piercing cry, shifting in Victoria’s arms. Her mind raced wildly back to the hospital, the vague memories, the missing medical records Julian had claimed were locked in a privacy dispute. It was all a constructed illusion.
«He’s my baby,» Victoria snarled, taking a fierce step back away from both women, her posture locking into place despite the barrel aimed at her spine.
«Mia, shoot her leg if she moves again,» the duplicate ordered coldly, raising her tracker.
200 words.
Before Mia could respond, the black SUV exploded into a towering fireball.
A violent shockwave blew through the tree line, throwing all four of them to the muddy ground. Shattered glass and burning debris rained down like a hail of fire. The heat scorched Victoria’s face as she shielded Leo with her body, rolling down the embankment into the ditch.
Tires screeched down the narrow dirt path as an armored, unmarked military transport barreled through the black smoke of the burning SUV.
The side door slid open with a heavy metallic clatter, and three heavily armed men in full tactical gear leapt out, deploying tear gas canisters that instantly filled the clearing with dense gray smoke.
«Get up!» a harsh voice shouted from inside the transport.
A hand reached down through the cloud of smoke, grabbing Victoria by the collar of her jacket and lifting her toward the floorboards of the vehicle. Victoria kicked wildly, pulling Leo tight against her collarbone, but as the smoke parted for a fraction of a second, she caught sight of the driver sitting in the front seat.
A hand reached down through the cloud of smoke, grabbing Victoria by the collar of her jacket and lifting her toward the floorboards of the vehicle. Victoria kicked wildly, pulling Leo tight against her collarbone, but as the smoke parted for a fraction of a second, she caught sight of the driver sitting in the front seat.
It was Julian.
350 words.
He wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t at the airstrip. His face was covered in fresh burn scars along his jawline, his left arm immobilized in a blood-stained sling, but his eyes were fixed entirely on the rear-view mirror.
«Get her inside!» Julian roared, slamming his palm against the dashboard as gunfire erupted from the tree line behind them.
The operative hauled Victoria into the cabin and slammed the heavy sliding door shut just as a hail of bullets peppered the reinforced steel armor. The transport surged forward, tires spinning wildly on the muddy gravel before catching traction and tearing down the mountain road.
Victoria scrambled backward against the floorboards, pulling Leo away from the tactical gear stacked in the corner. «Stay back from me!» she screamed, snatching a heavy tactical knife from an open crate beside her and holding it out. «Stay away from him!»
Julian didn’t turn around, but his knuckles grew white on the steering wheel. «Put the knife down, Victoria. If I wanted you dead, I would have let Evelyn’s clean-up squad finish you in the pantry.»
«Your duplicate was out there!» Victoria yelled, her voice raw. «She said Leo isn’t mine! She said—»
«She isn’t a duplicate, Victoria,» Julian interrupted, his voice dropping into a hollow, dead tone as he navigated the sharp mountain curves. «She’s your twin sister. The one your father told you died at birth.»
550 words.
The transport swayed sharply as Julian took a hairpin turn at ninety miles per hour. Victoria slumped back against the steel wall, the breath completely knocked out of her.
«Charlotte was the one who locked you out of the vault six years ago,» Julian continued, his eyes darting to the side mirror as two black sedans appeared in pursuit down the winding cliff road behind them. «She took your place in Geneva. She’s been operating under your name for five years.»
«Then who is in the vault?» Victoria whispered, her hands trembling as she stroked Leo’s small, warm forehead.
«The real Arthur Vance,» Julian said quietly. «The man your father shot in the wine cellar ten minutes ago was an impostor sent by your mother to draw you out. The real Arthur never left the Geneva bunker.»
Julian reached over to the passenger seat, grabbed a heavy sealed manila envelope stamped with a red wax seal, and threw it back into Victoria’s lap.
«Look inside,» Julian ordered. «See what Project 10 actually is.»
Victoria’s fingers hesitated over the wax seal. She looked down at the paper, then at Leo, whose small hand was clutching her index finger. Slowly, she tore the heavy envelope open and pulled out a stack of yellowed medical files and surveillance photographs.
750 words.
The top photograph was dated three weeks ago.
It showed a sleek, high-security lab facility deep underground. Inside a glass observation chamber sat a little boy who looked exactly like Leo—same dark eyes, same facial structure—but the timestamp on the photograph indicated the child was already four years old.
Beneath the photograph was a short, typed document stamped with the Vance family crest:
PROJECT 10: SUBJECT REPLICATION LOG. SUBJECT 10-A (LEO) SUCCESSFULLY PLACED WITH PRIMARY CARETAKER VICTORIA VANCE. SUBJECT 10-B (LEO) MAINTAINED IN GENEVA VAULT.
Victoria’s chest constricted until she couldn’t pull air into her lungs. She looked down at the baby sleeping in her arms, then back at the photograph of the older boy.
«There aren’t two of you, Victoria,» Julian said, his eyes reflecting the flashing red warning light on the dashboard as the pursuing cars gained on them. «There are dozens of you. And none of you are the original.»
A heavy thud echoed from the roof of the armored transport.
The metal ceiling groaned under a sudden, massive weight, and the blade of a heavy mechanical saw burst down through the steel right above Victoria’s head, showering spark trails into the darkness of the cabin.