Chapter 10 Father's Sin, Son's Game

Julian's text was brief but alarming: "Files encrypted beyond recovery. R's father deploying cleanup protocol. Satellite detected. Move NOW."

Rowan read the message over my shoulder, his body tensing. "Satellite surveillance. They're tracking the phone signal."

I immediately powered down the device, but the damage was done. "We need to go."

"No," Rowan countered, already moving to the closet where he'd stashed his clothes. "You stay here. I'll lead them away."

"That's not happening." I discarded the sheet, dressing quickly in fresh clothes from my mother's wardrobe. "We move together or not at all."

He paused, watching me with an unreadable expression. "You're still trying to control everything."

"I'm trying to keep us alive." I retrieved the gun from the bedside table. "My father won't stop until he has you back in that facility—and me locked away somewhere I can't expose him."

Rowan's jaw tightened. "You don't understand what you're up against, Cassia. Your father's 'cleanup protocol' isn't just security teams. He'll deploy enhanced subjects—others like me, but with fewer restrictions."

"Others? How many are there?"

"I don't know exactly. I saw at least five during my time at Helvetica." He moved to the window, scanning the streets below. "They'll be here within minutes."

I crossed to my mother's desk, unlocking a hidden drawer to reveal a small metal case. Inside lay a set of car keys and a data chip.

"Emergency exit," I explained, tossing him the keys. "Parking level B3, space 42. Black Audi, bulletproof glass, untraceable plates."

"And the chip?"

I tucked it into my pocket. "Insurance."

We left through the service corridor, avoiding the main elevator. The emergency stairs were narrow and dimly lit, designed for maintenance access rather than escape. Three flights down, Rowan suddenly stopped, raising a hand for silence.

Footsteps echoed from below, moving with military precision. He pulled me into an alcove, his body shielding mine as a security team passed the floor beneath us.

"Six men, armed," he whispered against my ear. "Professional gear. They're sweeping upward."

"There's another way down," I breathed, pointing to a utility shaft at the end of the corridor. "Maintenance elevator. Staff only."

We moved silently toward it, Rowan's enhanced senses alert to every sound. The elevator was little more than a metal cage, but it would take us directly to the parking levels.

As the doors closed, Rowan finally spoke. "Your father called in Archangel Division."

"What's that?"

"His elite recovery team. Enhanced operatives specifically designed to retrieve escaped subjects." His eyes met mine in the dim light. "They won't hesitate to kill you if you interfere."

The elevator shuddered to a stop at B3. Rowan exited first, scanning the deserted parking level before signaling me to follow. We moved between concrete pillars, staying low and watchful.

Space 42 held the promised Audi—sleek, black, and inconspicuous despite its reinforced construction. Rowan took the driver's seat without discussion, his left-handed dexterity an advantage as he hot-wired the ignition sequence for the security system.

"Where to?" he asked as the engine purred to life.

"West exit," I directed. "Then the industrial district. I have another safe house."

We were halfway to the exit when the first shots rang out, bullets pinging harmlessly off the car's armored exterior. In the rearview mirror, I glimpsed three figures in tactical gear, moving with inhuman speed.

"Hold on," Rowan warned, slamming the accelerator. The car leapt forward, tires squealing as he executed a perfect drift around the corner toward the exit.

More shots followed us, one cracking but not penetrating the rear window. Then we were through the barrier gate, smashing it aside as we emerged onto the street.

"They'll have vehicles waiting," Rowan said, weaving through early morning traffic with surgical precision. "And a tracking system on this car."

"Under the dash," I reached beneath the steering column, finding the small device my mother had installed years ago. "Jammers. Three-mile radius."

He raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. "Your mother thought of everything."

"She knew what my father was capable of." I activated the system, watching the red light blink to green. "She just didn't live long enough to stop him."

We drove in tense silence, taking a circuitous route through the city's industrial outskirts. The safe house—a converted warehouse my mother had purchased through shell companies—appeared abandoned from the outside, its true purpose hidden behind graffiti-covered walls and rusted gates.

Once inside, with security systems activated, I finally allowed myself to breathe. The warehouse's interior belied its exterior—a fully equipped living space surrounded by advanced research equipment.

"What is this place?" Rowan asked, examining the laboratory setup in the center of the open floor plan.

"My mother's private research facility." I moved to the main computer terminal, inserting the data chip I'd retrieved from the apartment. "Where she was working on consciousness mapping before she died."

Rowan went still. "Consciousness mapping. The foundation of Project Lazarus."

"Yes." I activated the system, watching as encrypted files populated the screen. "But her version wasn't about control or manipulation. She wanted to preserve identity, not reshape it."

He approached slowly, eyes fixed on the scrolling data. "These are the original protocols. Before your father corrupted them."

"My mother suspected he would. That's why she kept a separate record." I opened a specific folder labeled 'Contingencies.' "And a potential reversal process."

Rowan's expression shifted from interest to wariness. "Reversal? You mean undoing the neural modifications?"

"In theory," I acknowledged. "The process was never completed or tested."

He turned away, tension radiating from his shoulders. "And if it works? What happens to me?"

The question hung between us—the heart of everything we'd been avoiding. Who was he, really? And if the modifications were reversed, what would remain?

"I don't know," I admitted. "But it might be the only way to free you from my father's control."

"Or it might destroy whatever's left of me." He faced me again, eyes hard. "Is that what you want, Cassia? The original model back? The perfect fiancé who never challenged you, never scared you?"

I met his gaze steadily. "I want you to have a choice. Something my father never gave you."

He laughed, the sound bitter. "Choice is an illusion for people like us."

"Not necessarily." I opened another file—a video recording of my mother, dated three months before her death. "Listen to this."

The recording started, showing my mother in this same lab, looking tired but determined. "Alexander's modifications to Project Lazarus are dangerous," she began without preamble. "He's using my research to create controllable assets, not to heal damaged minds as intended."

Rowan moved closer, transfixed by the woman on screen.

"I've discovered he's begun experimental trials on subjects without consent," my mother continued. "Specifically targeting individuals he considers threats or assets. My attempts to intervene have been... unsuccessful." She touched her temple, where a faint bruise was visible. "If you're watching this, Cassia, it means I wasn't able to stop him. But you can."

She leaned closer to the camera. "The key is in the original mapping protocols. The modifications create dependency through neural pathways connected to the limbic system—essentially addiction to specific emotional triggers. But the base personality remains intact, buried beneath layers of conditioning."

My mother held up a data drive. "This contains the reversal protocol. It won't undo physical enhancements, but it will restore cognitive autonomy. The subject will remember everything—both original memories and those experienced during modification—but will be able to distinguish between them."

The video ended abruptly. I looked at Rowan, whose expression had grown unreadable.

"When was this recorded?" he asked quietly.

"May 15th, five years ago. She died a week later."

"Car accident," he said. "That's what the official reports said."

"Yes." I closed the video file. "But I've never believed it was an accident."

Rowan's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Your father killed her to protect his project."

"I can't prove it," I said. "But yes, I believe he did."

He was silent for a long moment, processing. Then: "If we use this reversal protocol, what happens afterward? You get your answers, your revenge against your father. What about me?"

"What do you want to happen?" I countered.

"I don't know who I am well enough to answer that." He moved to stand before me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "The man you were going to marry is gone, Cassia. Even if the procedure works, I'll never be him again."

"I know that." I reached up, touching his face gently. "But maybe I don't want him back."

Confusion flickered across his features. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that whoever you are now—damaged, dangerous, angry—you're more real than he ever was." The admission cost me something, a final surrender of the fantasy I'd clung to. "The Rowan I knew was perfect. Too perfect. I see that now."

His hand covered mine, holding it against his cheek. "You prefer the monster?"

"I prefer the truth," I said simply. "Even when it hurts."

Something shifted in his eyes—the hardness melting into vulnerability that vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. He lowered his head, resting his forehead against mine.

"I remember loving you," he whispered. "That feels real, even when nothing else does."

My heart contracted painfully. "Rowan—"

A sharp alert from the security system interrupted us. Someone had breached the outer perimeter.

"Your father," Rowan said, immediately shifting back to tactical awareness. "How did he find us so quickly?"

I moved to the security panel, checking the camera feeds. What I saw made my blood run cold.

"It's not security teams," I said. "It's my father himself. With Dr. Chen and two armed guards."

Rowan joined me at the monitor, his expression darkening. "This is unusual. Alexander doesn't typically handle field operations personally."

"Unless he's desperate." I zoomed in on my father's face, noting the unusual tension there. "Something's wrong. He looks... afraid."

"He should be." Rowan's voice hardened. "I sent those files to the media."

"But Julian said they were encrypted beyond recovery."

"Not all of them." A grim smile touched his lips. "I had backup copies with a deadman's switch. If I don't check in every 12 hours, they release automatically. Your father knows his time is running out."

I studied the monitors, watching my father approach the main entrance. "He wants to negotiate."

"Or eliminate the threat permanently." Rowan moved to retrieve the gun I'd set aside. "Either way, we're out of time for debate."

"Wait." I caught his arm. "Let me talk to him first."

"Absolutely not."

"He won't risk harming me—not physically. I'm still his heir, his legacy." I held Rowan's gaze steadily. "And I need answers from him. About my mother. About you."

Conflict played across his features. "It's too dangerous."

"I'll use the internal communication system. He stays outside." I squeezed his arm. "Trust me. Please."

After a long moment, he nodded reluctantly. "At the first sign of threat, I'm intervening."

I activated the intercom as my father reached the entrance. "That's far enough."

He looked up at the camera, his expression shifting to relief. "Cassia. Thank god you're safe."

"Safe from whom, Father? Your security teams? Your enhanced assassins?"

He had the decency to look uncomfortable. "A misunderstanding. I instructed them to retrieve you unharmed."

"Like you retrieved Rowan three years ago?" I kept my voice steady despite the anger coursing through me. "Or should I say, created him?"

My father's eyes hardened. "You don't understand what you're interfering with, Cassia. Project Lazarus is beyond personal feelings. It represents the future of human potential."

"It represents torture and illegal experimentation," I corrected. "On a man I loved. A man you deliberately took from me."

"I protected you," he insisted. "Vale was compromised. Dangerous. The neural enhancements merely revealed his true nature."

Behind me, I sensed Rowan tensing. I continued before he could react. "Tell me about Mother. Did Project Lazarus reveal her 'true nature' as well? Is that why she died?"

For the first time in my life, I saw genuine shock on my father's face. "What are you talking about?"

"She knew what you were doing. She left evidence, protocols, recordings."

"Impossible," he whispered, but doubt had crept into his expression. "Elaine died before—" He stopped abruptly.

"Before what, Father? Before you could silence her too?"

His composure returned, cold and impenetrable. "Your mother's death was an accident. A tragedy. Don't dishonor her memory with conspiracy theories."

"Then prove it," I challenged. "Turn yourself in. Shut down Project Lazarus. Release all the subjects."

"You know I can't do that." His voice softened, becoming the persuasive tone he used in board meetings. "Come out, Cassia. Bring Vale with you. We can discuss this rationally, find a compromise that protects everyone's interests."

I laughed bitterly. "Like you compromised with Rowan? With the failed subjects before him?"

My father's patience visibly thinned. "You have five minutes to come out voluntarily. After that, we breach. And Cassia?" His eyes found the camera again. "Subject 1037X is programmed with failsafes. Activation phrases that render him compliant—or lethal. Don't make me use them."

The communication ended, leaving us in ringing silence.

"Failsafes?" I turned to Rowan, who had gone deathly still.

"Standard protocol for enhanced subjects," he confirmed, voice flat. "Verbal triggers that override conscious control."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

His eyes met mine, filled with a resignation that broke my heart. "Because I didn't know which ones they implanted in me. I still don't."

The realization hit me like physical pain. No matter what happened next, my father held the ultimate power over Rowan—the ability to turn him into a weapon or a vegetable with a few chosen words.

Unless we implemented the reversal protocol immediately.

"We have to try my mother's procedure," I said urgently. "Now, before he breaches."

Rowan nodded, decision made. "How long will it take?"

I moved to the laboratory equipment, powering up the neural interface. "Fifteen minutes for the basic protocol. But Rowan—" I hesitated, forcing myself to speak the truth, "it could kill you. The reversal was never tested."

He approached the neural interface, a complex headset connected to my mother's computers. "Better dead than a puppet," he said simply, sitting in the chair. "Do it."

As I prepared the equipment, attaching sensors to his temples and throat, I was acutely aware of the countdown—less than four minutes before my father would force his way in.

"Cassia," Rowan caught my hand as I worked. "If this doesn't work—if I become something else, or nothing at all—promise me one thing."

I met his gaze, seeing in it a clarity I hadn't witnessed before. "Anything."

"Don't let him take me back."

The implication was clear. I swallowed hard, then nodded. "I promise."

Outside, I heard my father's voice on a megaphone. Two minutes.

I initiated the sequence, watching as my mother's program began overriding the neural pathways my father had created. Rowan's body tensed, back arching as the first wave of corrections hit his system.

"Stay with me," I whispered, holding his hand tightly. "Fight for yourself."

His fingers convulsed around mine, a strangled sound escaping his throat. On the monitor, I watched his brain activity spiking dangerously high as buried memories collided with implanted ones.

One minute.

"Almost there," I encouraged, though I had no way of knowing if it was working. "Hold on, Rowan."

His eyes flew open, pupils dilated so widely the green was barely visible. "Cassia," he gasped. "I remember... everything."

Before I could respond, the warehouse doors exploded inward.

Time had run out.