Chapter 11 The Mirror Man

Smoke billowed through the breached entrance as my father's security team stormed in. I yanked the neural interface from Rowan's head, uncertain if the procedure had completed or merely begun the process of unraveling his mind.

"Can you move?" I asked urgently, helping him to his feet.

His eyes were unfocused, hands trembling slightly. "Yes," he managed, voice rough. "But something's... different."

No time to assess the changes. I pulled him toward the back of the laboratory where my mother had installed an emergency exit disguised as a storage closet.

"Halt!" A security officer's voice echoed through the warehouse. "Alexander Rothschild has authorized lethal force!"

Rowan suddenly straightened, pushing me behind him. "Get to the exit," he ordered, clarity returning to his gaze. "I'll hold them off."

"Not without you," I insisted, but he was already moving toward the intruders with frightening speed.

What happened next defied human capability. Rowan engaged three armed guards simultaneously, his movements a blur of precise strikes. Where before he'd fought with raw aggression, now he displayed calculated efficiency—disarming one guard, using his weapon to incapacitate another, then disabling the third with a nerve strike that left the man crumpled on the floor.

My father appeared through the smoke, Dr. Chen at his side. Seeing Rowan standing over his fallen security team, Alexander raised his hand, a small device clutched in his palm.

"Lazarus protocol, Subject 1037X," he called out. "Stand down, authorization Alpha-Six-Delta."

I held my breath, watching for Rowan to collapse or comply. Instead, he smiled—a cold, knowing expression.

"That won't work anymore, Alexander," he said, voice steady. "Your daughter is more capable than you gave her credit for."

My father's face contorted with rage. "Impossible." He turned to Dr. Chen. "Activate the secondary protocol!"

"Vesper sequence engaged," Dr. Chen responded, typing rapidly on a tablet.

Rowan's body jerked, hand flying to his temple, but he remained standing. "Neural suppressant," he growled through gritted teeth. "Trying to... shut down motor functions."

I rushed to the laboratory console, frantically searching my mother's protocols for a countermeasure. "Fight it, Rowan! It's targeting implanted pathways—they don't have full control anymore!"

My father advanced, expression thunderous. "Step away from the console, Cassia. You have no idea what you've done."

"I've freed him," I shot back, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"You've created a monster," my father corrected. "Subject 1037X contains combat programming from five different military specialists, intelligence training from three former agency directors, and enhanced physical capabilities beyond normal human limitations. Without the control protocols, he's a weapon with no safeguards."

Rowan had fallen to one knee, fighting the paralysis spreading through his system. "Your definition of 'monster' is revealing, Alexander," he managed, each word a struggle. "A being you can't control terrifies you."

I found what I was looking for—my mother's neural shield program, designed to block external signals from reaching implanted tech. I activated it, directing the shield frequency toward Rowan.

The effect was immediate. He gasped, color returning to his face as he regained control of his body. When he stood again, there was a new awareness in his eyes—a integration I hadn't seen before.

"Thank you, Cassia," he said quietly, then turned to my father. "It's over, Alexander. The failsafes are burned out."

Dr. Chen backed away, tablet dropping from nerveless fingers. "Sir, he's completely off-grid. I can't access any of the control nodes."

My father's composure cracked. For the first time in my life, I saw naked fear on his face. "What have you done to him?" he demanded, gaze fixed on me.

"I gave him back to himself," I replied, moving to stand beside Rowan. "Something you should have done three years ago."

Alexander's hand moved toward his jacket—reaching for a weapon, I realized too late. Rowan saw it too, lunging forward with inhuman speed.

"No!" I cried, but the shot had already rung out—not from my father's gun, but from the doorway where a figure stood silhouetted against the smoke.

My father staggered, clutching his shoulder as blood bloomed across his expensive suit. Behind him stood Miranda Liu, my former behavioral specialist, gun still raised.

"That's enough, Alexander," she said calmly. "The board has seen the files. It's finished."

"Miranda?" I stared at her in shock. "How—"

"I've been working with Dr. Webb for months," she explained, keeping her weapon trained on my father. "Gathering evidence, building a case. When you purchased Subject 1037X at the auction, it accelerated our timeline."

Dr. Chen made a break for the exit. A second shot from Miranda stopped him in his tracks—not a fatal wound, but enough to send him sprawling to the floor.

"The board of directors has called an emergency session," Miranda continued. "Rothschild Biomedical is being placed under external management pending a full investigation. Your security clearances have been revoked, Alexander."

My father's face had gone ashen, whether from the bullet wound or the news, I couldn't tell. "You can't do this. Project Lazarus is classified at the highest levels. Government sanctioned."

"Was," Miranda corrected. "Until the evidence reached certain oversight committees this morning. Turns out even black-budget programs have limits when it comes to human experimentation and consciousness manipulation."

More figures appeared behind her—not security forces, but medical personnel and what appeared to be federal agents. They moved efficiently, securing the scene, attending to the wounded, including my father.

Through it all, Rowan remained unnaturally still beside me, watching the proceedings with an expression I couldn't read.

"Are you alright?" I asked quietly.

He didn't answer immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice had changed—deeper, more controlled. "I'm not sure 'alright' is the appropriate term. I'm... integrated."

"Meaning?"

"I remember everything now. Both lives. The original Rowan Vale and what your father made me into." His eyes met mine, searching. "But I don't know which one I am. Perhaps neither. Perhaps both."

Before I could respond, one of the federal agents approached us. "Ms. Rothschild, we need to debrief you regarding Project Lazarus. And Mr. Vale—" he hesitated, glancing at a tablet, "or Subject 1037X, we'll need to conduct a full evaluation of your condition."

Rowan's expression hardened. "I'm not a subject anymore."

"Of course not, sir," the agent backpedaled quickly. "But for your own safety and others', we need to understand the extent of the modifications."

Miranda intervened. "They'll cooperate fully, Agent Decker. But first, they need medical attention and rest. It's been a traumatic experience for both of them."

The agent nodded reluctantly. "Twenty-four hours, then. We'll expect you both at the federal building downtown."

As the chaos around us organized into methodical evidence collection and medical treatment, Miranda guided us to a quiet corner of the warehouse.

"Dr. Webb is waiting at a secure facility," she told us. "He can help evaluate the success of the reversal protocol. But we need to move quickly, before your father's remaining allies regroup."

"I'm not going to another facility," Rowan said flatly. "I've spent three years being examined, tested, and modified. It ends now."

I placed my hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles. "We need to know if the procedure worked completely, Rowan. If there are any remaining triggers or implanted commands."

"There aren't." He spoke with absolute certainty. "I can feel the difference. Before, there were... gaps. Blank spaces where memories should be. Impulses I couldn't control. Now everything is connected. Chaotic, contradictory, but complete."

Miranda studied him with professional interest. "The integration appears successful on a cognitive level, but we should still run physiological tests. The neural enhancements are permanent—you'll need to learn how to manage them without the control protocols."

Rowan's jaw tightened, but he nodded once. "Fine. Tests. But I remain conscious and aware at all times. No sedation, no isolation."

"Agreed." She turned to me. "Cassia, there's something else you should know. About your mother."

My heart stuttered. "What about her?"

"Her accident wasn't what you think. It wasn't your father who arranged it." Miranda hesitated. "It was Dr. Webb."

The revelation hit me like a physical blow. "That's not possible. Webb was her friend, her colleague."

"He was also in love with her," Miranda said gently. "When she discovered his involvement in the military applications of Project Lazarus, she threatened to expose everything. He... made a decision he's regretted ever since."

I felt Rowan's arm encircle my waist, supporting me as my knees threatened to buckle. "Why is he helping us now?" I managed.

"Redemption," Miranda replied simply. "When your father took the project in even darker directions after Elaine's death, Webb realized how far they'd strayed from the original purpose. He's been working to dismantle it ever since."

Too much. It was all too much to process. My father, Webb, my mother's death—layers of betrayal and manipulation extending back years before Rowan ever entered my life.

"I need time," I said finally. "We both do."

Miranda nodded. "I've arranged a safe house. Completely off-grid, no connection to either the Rothschilds or Dr. Webb. You'll have forty-eight hours before the federal debriefing."

As she left to make the arrangements, Rowan and I stood in silence, watching my father being taken away on a stretcher, handcuffed despite his injury.

"What happens now?" I asked quietly.

"I don't know," Rowan admitted. "I've spent three years with a single focus—understanding what was done to me, finding who was responsible. Now that I have those answers..." He trailed off, looking lost for the first time since I'd bought him at the auction.

"We take it one day at a time," I suggested. "Learn who we are now, after everything."

His expression softened slightly. "And if you don't like who I've become?"

"I already know who you've become," I reminded him. "I've seen every facet—the rage, the calculation, the violence. And I'm still here."

Something vulnerable flickered in his eyes. "You haven't seen everything. The memories are still... sorting themselves. Some of what your father did, what I did while under his control—" He stopped, jaw tightening. "You might not be so accepting when the full picture emerges."

I took his face between my hands, forcing him to meet my gaze. "I'm not the innocent you remember either, Rowan. The woman who bought a human being at auction isn't the same one you were going to marry three years ago."

He covered my hands with his own. "No, she's not. She's stronger. Darker." A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "More interesting."

The tenderness in his voice caught me off guard, igniting a warmth I'd thought extinguished long ago. Before I could respond, Miranda returned.

"The car's ready," she announced. "We need to move now, while the media is focused on Alexander."

As we followed her out through the back exit, I caught Rowan looking at his reflection in a shattered mirror hanging on the wall. He paused, studying the face that looked back at him—familiar features arranged in an unfamiliar expression.

"What do you see?" I asked softly.

"Myself," he replied after a moment. "Both versions. Neither quite real, neither completely false." He turned to me, a question in his eyes. "What do you see?"

I considered him—the hardened physique, the calculating gaze, the scars both visible and hidden. Different from the man I'd once loved, yet somehow more authentic.

"I see you," I said simply. "Just you."

Outside, dawn was breaking over the city. As we slid into the waiting car, I realized that for the first time in three years, I was facing the future without the weight of unanswered questions. Whatever came next—redemption, punishment, rebuilding—we would face it with clear eyes and unmanipulated minds.

The car pulled away from the warehouse, leaving behind the broken pieces of Project Lazarus and the lives it had shattered. Beside me, Rowan took my hand, his fingers intertwining with mine in a gesture that felt both new and achingly familiar.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"Forward," Rowan replied, eyes fixed on the horizon. "Just forward."