Elena’s P.O.V.
The air in the subterranean medical facility was freezing.
It smelled of ozone, sterile equipment, and dark secrets that had been buried for twenty-four years.
I stood in front of the titanium medical pod, my breath rising in small, faint clouds against the glass. Inside, surrounded by glowing blue sensors and silent life-support monitors, lay the face I looked at in the mirror every single morning.
The dark hair, the shape of the jawline, the soft curve of the collarbone—it was an exact replica.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. My hands trembled so violently that I had to ball them into fists inside the pockets of my coat just to keep from breaking down completely.
"It’s not a trick, Mrs. Vance," the lead chief of medicine whispered, staring at a
