Echo froze.
The chamber pulsed in low, sickly blue.
And in front of the shard, standing tall in perfect posture—was her.
Or rather… a version of her.
Clad in silver, cold-eyed, lips curled into the same calculated smirk she once used to mask her fear.
"Hello, me," the Echo-copy said, voice pure, polished… robotic."Shall we review the cost of your rebellion?"
Echo narrowed her eyes, spinning her blade in her hand like a pen she'd long since mastered.
"I didn't come for a memory.""No," the projection said, stepping forward."You came to bury the truth."
And lunged.
As their blades clashed, the weight wasn't in the steel.
It was in recognition.
Every move the copy made was hers—Polished. Precise.
Calculated to exploit every weakness she once trained herself out of.
"I'm fighting the version of myself I tried to forget," Echo realized.
The loyal tool.The perfect second.The Echo that never questioned Specter.
Not because she was blind—But because she was afraid.
