The Eden Silence
Lex didn't sleep at her hotel that night.
She stayed.
They didn't talk for hours—just existed near each other in that breathless, suspended way people do when time becomes fragile. Rhea curled up on the couch, and Lex sat by the window, watching the skyline blur with dawn.
At some point, Rhea broke the silence.
"Have you ever heard of the Eden Group?"
Lex turned slowly. "Should I have?"
Rhea hesitated. "No. That's how they like it."
Flashback – Three Years Ago
Muri had been brilliant, too brilliant. She had cracked a code that wasn't meant to be touched—an algorithm Eden had buried under layers of false patents and shell companies. A neural lattice, disguised as biotech, capable of mapping emotional memory in real-time. They called it EchoNet.
She wasn't supposed to see what it really did: replicate memory patterns. Build profiles. Manipulate behavior.
When she refused to cooperate, she disappeared.
Eden gave her a new life. A clean slate. But the condition was clear: stay buried. Never reconnect. Never look back.
Now
Rhea's voice was hollow. "They said if I reached out to anyone from my past, they'd know. I didn't believe them—until the day after I opened your old photo in my inbox, they shut down my connection for three hours. No explanation."
Lex felt a chill move through her. "They're still monitoring you?"
Rhea nodded. "And now you."
Lex laughed once, short. "Too late. I'm already in."
She crossed the room, knelt by Rhea's side, took her hand. "Why now? Why risk coming back?"
Rhea searched Lex's face like it was a map she used to know. "Because when I saw you walk into that conference room… I remembered who I used to be. And I couldn't pretend anymore."
Lex smiled, slow and dangerous. "Then help me pull the thread. Let's see what unravels."
"I don't want you hurt," Rhea whispered.
Lex leaned in, their faces close again, but not quite touching. "Too late for that too."
And Rhea, this time, didn't hesitate.
She kissed him—tentative, breaking, and then whole again. The kind of kiss that rewrote silence. The kind that tasted like a beginning pretending to be an end.
Later That Night — Eden Group Headquarters, Unmarked
A woman in a charcoal blazer set down a file marked MALIN, R. / SUBJECT: LEX Cartwright
"She's activated."
The man across from her didn't look up. Just said:
"Then bring them both in. Or erase them."