{ Mia }
I didn't wait, I moved.
Slowly, I slithered through the narrow shaft until I dropped silently into the hallway outside my room. One target was checking the kitchen, isolated.
Perfect.
I moved like liquid shadow, toes barely kissing the floor as I slipped behind him. His stance was loose, relaxed. He thought he was safe.
Wrong.
I reached up and pressed the needle-thin stun pin into the soft spot at the base of his neck. He stiffened one short gasp, then dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
I caught him before he hit the floor. No noise. No struggle.
I dragged him into the storage closet beside the laundry room. Tight fit, but enough.
I stripped off his tactical vest, shoved it aside, and took a good look at his face, round jaw, slight scar on the left eyebrow.
I closed my eyes imagining myself turning into him then, my skin rippled, shifted. Hair lightened. Bones reshaped.
Thirty seconds later, I was him.
Same uniform. Same boots. Same scuffed gloves.
I pulled the closet door shut behind him, then walked back toward my room, careful to mimic his gait, just a little heavy on the right foot.
" Scarlett be sure to transfer him into my secret closet." I muttered under my breath.
My heart thudded as I passed the door. I could still see the shimmer of my illusion on the bed, flickering slightly at the edges now.
Ticking clock.
Inside, the other two agents were crouched, still inspecting. One of them barked over comms, "Jace, you see anything out there?"
I froze just beyond the doorframe.
Jace. That was me now.
I dropped my voice half an octave and leaned in. "Cleared the hall. Nothing moving."
The taller one grunted. "Get in here. I want to double-check the kid. Something's off."
I stepped into the room, pulse pounding, and lay down right beside the illusion, like a soldier waiting for orders.
The other two barely looked.
Just before I checked the illusion, I felt it, the illusion wavering, losing coherence. Edges fraying like smoke in wind.
No choice.
I stopped time.
The world snapped silent. Motion froze mid-breath. The taller agent's mouth hung open on the edge of another command. A flicker of dust hung in the air, weightless.
My breath echoed like thunder in the stillness. I moved quickly.
The illusion on the bed was nearly gone now, no more than a glimmering outline. I crouched beside it and summoned my clone, solid, tangible, breathing. She blinked once at me, already understanding.
We traded places. I yanked the flickering illusion out of existence and laid the clone down in its place. Her chest rose and fell with artificial rhythm, just enough. Her eyes glazed over like someone caught in sedation.
Perfect.
I touched the air, time cracked and resumed like glass rejoining.
Sound flooded back. The taller agent blinked.
I lay down beside my clone, no, their "target", exactly where I needed to be. A soldier waiting for orders. Calm. Steady. Invisible in plain sight.
" There's nothing wrong with her boss." I spoke clearly.
" Alright then, let's go, we don't want to keep boss waiting..."
The taller one stepped forward. "Standard protocol," he muttered, pulling a black hood from his belt. "Don't want her seeing anything she shouldn't."
He moved toward the clone, toward me, but not me.
In a single motion, he yanked the bag over her head.
She screamed.
Panic, raw and real, burst from her throat like a blade tearing through silence. She kicked against the restraints, instinct overriding programming. It was perfect. Too perfect.
"Shut her up," the other snapped, already digging into his kit.
The taller one jammed a syringe into her neck fast, practiced. Her scream cut off in a strangled whimper, body shuddering once, then falling slack in the bed's frame.
"Goodnight, freak."
I clenched my jaw but kept my mask. Kept Jace's face. Kept walking the line.
They didn't even blink. They hoisted her between them like she was just cargo, head lolling beneath the hood, arms limp over their shoulders.
I followed silently.
They quickly left the house, leaving no trace of their arrival. Not a boot mark. Not a breath. Just stillness in their wake.
The white van sat idling beside the curb like it had always been there.
They dumped her inside—my clone, unconscious, hooded, bound. One agent slammed the doors shut while the other climbed into the passenger seat. I took the back corner, silent, a ghost in borrowed skin.
The engine rumbled low. No sirens. No rush. Just cold precision.
The van rolled through back streets, cutting through the city like a scalpel. Thirty minutes of silence. Not a word. Just the low hum of tires on pavement and the occasional flicker of passing headlights through narrow, forgotten alleys.
Then we slowed.
Turned sharply into an alley barely wider than the van itself.
They stopped beside a blank brick wall.
One of them stepped out, approached a rusted section of pipe, and pressed something—a hidden panel, a sensor. A soft click followed. Then the wall shifted, stone groaning as a seamless door slid inward, revealing a dark corridor beyond.
No markings. No warnings.
Just a mouth waiting to swallow them whole.
They grabbed the clone and moved inside.
And I followed, quiet as breath, deeper into the dark.
Through the lower halls. Through a service tunnel that reeked of rust and mold and old secrets. Then down another stairwell, concrete-lined and cold, echoing with every footstep.
Ten minutes later, we reached it: the warehouse.
A hollowed-out husk of metal and dust, open floor, single table bolted to the concrete, cuffs waiting like hungry teeth.
They dropped her hard onto the chair.
Click. Click. Ankles first. Then wrists. The bag stayed on.
"Boss said not to touch her beyond containment," one of them muttered, wiping his hands like she was a toxin. "We wait."
They took positions along the wall casual, but ready.
I stayed in the corner, shadowed, silent.
Watching her chest rise and fall under the hood.
Waiting for my next move.
Because they thought they'd captured me.
But I was already in the room.
And I wasn't done yet.