Rain veiled the Manhattan skyline in silver.
By nightfall, the storm had swallowed the city's noise, leaving only the sound of water tracing the tall windows of the Roman mansion.
Amara sat cross-legged on her bed, the pendant resting in her palm.
Its dull metal surface now pulsed faintly with every beat of her heart. She'd tried locking it away — twice — but every time, she found herself drawn back to it.
The hum beneath her ribs had become constant now, like the earth itself was breathing through her.
She couldn't tell where her thoughts ended and the echoes began.
Her tablet buzzed on the nightstand.
A message blinked across the screen, the same unknown number as before:
> T: You felt it again, didn't you?
Amara: Who are you?
T: Someone who knows what your father is hiding.
Amara: Then tell me.
T: Not here. The walls in that house listen.
She froze, glancing instinctively toward the corners of the room. The chandelier's reflection on the dark window looked almost like an eye.
> Amara: What do you want from me?
T: To show you what you really are.
Amara: …I'm not part of this.
T: You already are. The Heart of the Plateau marked him. But it answered you.
Her pulse spiked.
"Chuka," she whispered. The pendant glowed faintly at his name, as if recognizing the sound.
The next message appeared almost instantly:
> T: He's alive.
Amara: Where?
T: Jos. But if Roman learns that before you do, he'll send hunters, not help.
She stared at the screen, her throat dry. "Alive." The word broke through her disbelief like light through glass.
Part of her wanted to cry; another part — the one that had been silent since the lab explosion — finally stirred with purpose.
> Amara: How do I find you?
T: You don't. I'll find you. But you need to prepare.
Amara: For what?
T: The others have started waking. The link between you and the Heart is only the beginning.
Lightning split the sky. The room flickered white, and for a heartbeat, she saw shapes in the glass — faint silhouettes of figures standing behind her reflection, as though drawn from light and dust.
She turned sharply.
Nothing. Only the storm.
Her phone buzzed again.
> T: They're watching through the mirrors. Don't look too long.
Her hands shook. She dropped the pendant onto the bed, its glow dimming as though it understood.
The messages stopped. The connection cut off mid-breath.
For several long seconds, the only sound was the rain and her own ragged heartbeat.
Then a knock came at the door — three slow, deliberate taps.
Her stomach clenched.
"Amara?" Her father's voice, deep and commanding. "We need to talk."
She swallowed hard, swiping the messages away and slipping the tablet under a pillow. "Just a minute," she said, forcing calm into her tone.
Chief Roman's shadow stretched long under the doorframe.
"I've been informed," he said, "that you've been having… episodes again."
"I'm fine."
"Good," he said after a pause. "Because I need you to attend the presentation tomorrow. The board will be there. The discovery in Jos is far from over."
The discovery. The word carried a chill.
He didn't know Chuka was alive — or worse, maybe he did.
When she didn't answer, he sighed. "Get some rest. You look pale."
She waited until his footsteps faded before exhaling. Her pulse was still racing, the pendant thrumming faintly like a heartbeat under the sheets.
Her gaze drifted toward the mirror across the room. For a moment, she thought she saw a faint shimmer within it — like light caught behind the glass.
She turned away quickly.
If "T" was right, someone — or something — was watching.
But beneath the fear, a spark had taken root — fragile, defiant, and burning.
If Chuka was truly alive, she would find him, no matter how far she had to go or what secrets her father buried to keep her from the truth.
---
She waited until the hall lights dimmed to silence before slipping from her room.
Barefoot, she moved through the corridor — careful, soundless. The mansion's night mode triggered soft amber lights along the floor, tracing her shadow like liquid gold.
Her father's private lab was three floors down, accessible only through the library's concealed elevator. She'd discovered it years ago while exploring — a hidden biometric lock disguised as a book spine.
"Control the narrative, control the world," her father once said. Now she understood he'd meant more than business.
She placed her palm on the scanner.
It beeped once — Access Denied.
Her jaw tightened.
From the folds of her robe, she pulled a small metal ring with a chip embedded — a tech she'd quietly lifted from his desk days ago. She pressed it against the reader.
This time, the panel blinked green.
The elevator opened.
The descent felt endless — the hum of electricity, the faint vibration of servers deep beneath the mansion. When the doors slid open, cool air greeted her, heavy with ozone.
The lab stretched ahead — sterile and immense. Holographic screens hovered midair, blueprints of relics and geological maps floating above the central console. One screen displayed seismic readings… from Jos.
The timestamp matched the moment she'd felt the pulse earlier that morning.
Her breath hitched.
He knew.
In the corner of the room, a containment cylinder stood sealed, cables snaking from its base. Inside, fragments of an artifact pulsed faintly — the same texture, the same gold veins as her pendant.
Her hand trembled as she approached. The nearer she got, the stronger the hum in her chest grew — until her own heartbeat synced with the relic's rhythm. The lights in the room flickered.
A voice spilled suddenly from the speakers, distorted but clear enough to freeze her blood:
> T: You shouldn't have come alone.
She spun around. "Who are you?"
> T: Someone who used to stand where you are. Someone who paid for it.
The monitors rippled with static. A shadowed figure appeared — their face masked by interference, only the outline of a man visible against the data storm.
> T: Roman isn't studying the Amours. He's trying to wake them.
"What do you mean, wake them?"
> T: He's found another one. Under the Pacific. The Heart in Jos was only the first pulse. The others are listening now.
The words hit her like ice water. "He can't control that power. No one can."
> T: He doesn't need control. He needs obedience. The Amours were built to respond to a will strong enough to command them. He believes he's that will.
The screen flickered again — the signal weakening.
> T: You can't stop him from here. If you want answers, you'll have to go where it began. Jos. Find Chuka. Before Roman finds you both.
"Wait!" she shouted, but the image dissolved into static.
The lights dimmed, then steadied. The hum in her chest faded, leaving a hollow quiet.
Above her, through layers of glass and concrete, thunder rolled across the Manhattan sky.
Amara stood alone, staring at the relic pulsing in the containment cylinder.
Her reflection stared back at her in the glass — eyes faintly glowing gold.
She whispered to herself, "If he's alive… I'm going to find him."
And the relic pulsed once more, as if answering in kind.
---