Page 74 of Lost Echoes

The silence that follows is thick enough to choke on.

Something flickers across his face. It’s recognition, then disdain. “Ah. One of the defectives.”

Sofia’s expression doesn’t change. “One of the survivors.”

“Ta-may-to, ta-mah-to.” Radley rises from his chair. “I see. So this is an ambush.”

Before Sofia can respond, the lights flicker. Once, twice, then steady. The air hums.

I glance toward the mirrored wall, and for the briefest second, I think I see movement behind the glass. A silhouette, still as stone. But that’s impossible. I shouldn’t be able to see anything back there. Because of Graham’s occupation, I know how those work.

Sofia keeps her focus on Radley. “We’re not here to fight. We’re here to expose everything.”

He chuckles low in his throat. “Expose? My dear, no one will believe you. They never have, and they never will. You can’t even begin to understand the protocols I’ve put into place. Why do you think everything has gone on so swimmingly all these decades?”

I rise. The chair scrapes against the tile, the sound sharp and final. “Then maybe it’s time they crumble.”

He watches me, eyes narrowing. “Be careful, Mackenzie. You were made to perform, not to lead.”

Something cold crawls up my spine—that familiar pull in the back of my mind, the one that used to mean the scene was beginning. For a heartbeat, the air tilts.

Then Sofia’s voice cuts through it. “Kenzi. Look at me.”

I do. Her eyes are fierce, steady. “You’re in control.”

I nod once, the fog breaking. When I turn back, Radley is watching us both like he’s seeing a show he doesn’t understand. I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t get to decide my role anymore.”

And then a sound. A faint buzz from the mirrored wall.

A blink of red light. The cameras.

Radley notices it too. “You didn’t think I’d allow recording in here, did you?”

Sofia’s mouth tightens. “We already have what we need.”

His smile returns, colder this time. “Do you?”

He steps closer to me. I can smell his cologne, the same sharp chemical tang from the hospital days. “Tell me, Mackenzie… do you still remember your lines?”

The words dig under my skin like hooks, sharp and precise. The room pulses, and for a split second, I’m nine years old again, barefoot on a cold stage, the spool in my hands, the spotlight burning white.

The curtain falls when the children sleep.

I feel my lips part before I even think about it, but then I stop. Instead, I meet his eyes and smile.

“I write them now.”

Sofia’s hand tightens on my shoulder.

That’s when the mirror behind him shatters.

Glass explodes outward, the sound like a scream. Radley ducks instinctively, shouting. I drop to the floor, covering my head. Shards of glass rain down like glittering snow. The sound isn’t just noise—it’s memory. Every crash lands somewhere deep inside me, pulling at things I thought I’d buried.

Through the rain of shards, I see movement. A figure stepping through the broken glass, smooth mask gleaming under the light.

Sofia jerks me backward. “Run!”

But the figure lifts a hand. Not to strike, but to point straight at me.