Subject Three
1003 Words
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"You were never just an assistant."
Ava gazed at the words a dozen times before the paper curled in her palm. Her hand was shaking. Her mouth was dry. Her entire body felt alien, like it no longer belonged to her.
No sender name. No watermark. No hint of who had dropped the package on her desk in the middle of a secure facility.
Just a ripped page with PROJECT RAVENCROFT stamped across it and a line at the bottom that hassled her more than anything:
Subject 3 — Ava Salvatore
She stared at the page until she could no longer see. Her chest squeezed in on itself. Her name—real, secret, hidden—typed in neat government letters, listed under an imaginary project Killian swore didn't exist.
So why the hell was she in it?
⸻
She found Killian in the glass boardroom at Hayes Global.
The door slammed shut behind her with a strength that stifled the argument he was having with two suit-clad businessmen. Both turned to look at her with obvious indignation. She didn't care.
"Out," she said, without even looking at them.
Killian didn't blink. "Gentlemen, give us a moment."
They left without question.
She slapped the document down on the table like acid.
He did not go for it.
"Do you intend to tell me why my name is in a research report I've never even heard of?" she demanded.
His jaw cracked, incrementally.
"That report was shredded years ago."
"But you kept a copy, didn't you?" Her anger trembled. "Why am I designated Subject Three?"
"Ava," he told her with precision, "that program was disestablished before you ever entered this building."
"Then why was I profiled?"
"You weren't," he answered. "Not exactly."
"What the devil is that supposed to be?"
Killian edged in, his voice low. "That means you were tracked—secondhand—when you went to see your sister get treated. You were a secondary byproduct of hospital tracking. It wasn't personal."
"Oh," she laughed harshly. "So I was just accidentally spied on like some rat in a cage in front of the cage."
He did not argue with it.
"You knew who I was before the interview," she whispered. "Before I even assumed a new name."
"Yes."
"And you still allowed me to walk into this hell without disclosing the truth to me?"
"I didn't allow you," he said. "I brought you in. I never indicated otherwise."
⸻
She left the building in a haze.
It was all unraveling. Her identity, her job, her grasp of what truth was and what manipulation was. She couldn't catch her breath there anymore. Not when she realized every camera might have once caught her unawares. Not when her name was in a dead test.
And the worst of all?
Killian wasn't even sorry.
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Her phone buzzed as she stepped out onto the street.
Julian: I can confirm the documents are real. Meet me. Now.
She did not respond.
She just started walking.
⸻
The ancient city archive was a place few knew existed. An abandoned digital archive once used years ago by trailblazing biotech researchers. Julian had somehow succeeded in getting inside.
He swept her up from the back entrance, in a black hoodie and jeans, eyes flicking wildly with apprehension.
"This way," he murmured.
She followed him down a mildewing step into secrets.
The lower room was packed with servers, dead monitors, and piles of used drives.
He slid a laptop across a folding table and opened a folder labeled Cognitive Mirror Models – CM3/Subject_3/
There she was.
Sixteen-year-old Ava.
In a waiting room.
Sitting, staring off into space. Whispering to a nurse. Seated next to her sister's hospital bed.
"How did they even recognize who I was?" she asked, shaking.
"They didn't at first," Julian said. "But Killian's AI tracked behavioral matrices, voice similarity, facial ratios. You were the highest ever recorded match."
"Match to what?"
He pulled up another report.
Lena Ravencroft's psychological profile.
They were chilling copies.
Same conflict responses. Same childhood trauma indicators. Same nervous mannerisms.
"You weren't a match," Julian said. "You were the mirror prototype."
She took a step back. "I did not consent to this."
"I know."
"He snooped on me for years—"
"Yes.".
"And you let him."
"I didn't know until too late," said Julian. "By the time I realized, I was already lost."
⸻
She left without a word.
Her hands numb. Her body thrumming with wrongness.
Had she even been real?
Had her choices ever been her own?
Or had Killian been manipulating from the beginning, string-pulling from behind the scenes?
⸻
She did not knock when she came to his mansion that night.
His employees tried to intervene. She ignored them.
She stormed into his office like a tornado.
"Open the safe."
Killian's head jerked up over his desk, surprised.
"I said open it."
"Don't do this," he warned.
"Too late."
He stood up slowly. Went to the wall. Moved a painting out of the way.
Behind it, a biometric scanner.
Thumbprint. Retina.
Click.
The door to the safe swung open.
Inside—binders stacked high. Red folders. Black-labeled files.
He pulled one out. Handed it over.
“Project Ravencroft – Mirror Archive,” it read.
She flipped it open.
The first page?
A photo of her at sixteen.
A blurry shot taken from across a hospital waiting room.
“I didn’t authorize this,” she whispered.
“You were never supposed to see it.”
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The final page made her blood freeze.
Project Status: Active
Next Behavioral Probe: 06.28 — Subject 3 (Ava Salvatore)
Tomorrow’s date.
She looked up at him.
“You’re still studying me?”
He said nothing.
⸻
Cliffhanger Ending — Chapter Six:
She moved away from him as if he was toxic.
"This whole time," she panted, not wanting to shatter. "I thought I was falling into something sinister and bad. But I wasn't."
She dropped the binder.
"I was designed for it."
- Writer
