Clara didn't respond to Damien's message right away.
She was sitting at her desk, the blue glow of her screen throbbing over her face like a cold warning. The file was still open. Project Echo looking at her like it was alive. She'd read the introduction five times. It didn't change.
Auditory-empathy surveillance.
Emotional vulnerability detection.
Consumer instability profiling.
It didn't sound like love.
It sounded like a weapon.
A system designed not to connect people—but to predict, control, and sell them.
And she had been a part of it. Her voice. Her late-night thoughts. Her innermost thoughts. Every confession she'd made using the app could've been tracked, tagged, analyzed.
Not necessarily by Damien.
But by someone.
By his father.
By NovaReign itself.
She closed the doc
