The girl’s voice did not carry the metallic resonance of the constructs, nor the hollow mimicry of the Architects. It was sweet, melodic, and terrifyingly familiar. As she recited from the glowing ledger, the words manifested in the air as shimmering golden script, hovering before them like a death sentence.
"Entry four-zero-two," the girl read, her eyes never leaving Lucien. "Lucien Dreadmoor. Failure to assimilate. Subject has demonstrated an aptitude for irrational defiance. Current status: Irrelevant to the new draft, yet essential for the destruction of the old."
Nyra leaped from the tower, landing between the girl and Lucien with a growl that shook the frost from the ground. "Who are you? You’re not a machine."
The girl tilted her head, her smile devoid of warmth. "I am Elara. I w
