Two months later, Zahra and Elijah were ghosts.
They lived quietly in Chiang Mai, Thailand, tucked away in the misty hills under new identities. The world had moved on, news cycles burned bright and fast. While some still whispered about "Project Williams," the media storm had faded into the archives of global controversy. But Zahra never forgot.
By day, she volunteered at a rural clinic, tending to villagers with warmth and purpose. Elijah taught coding classes at a community centre and helped refugees secure digital anonymity. It wasn't glamorous, but it was healing. They had earned peace. A sliver of it, at least.
One night, as monsoon rains danced across their tin roof, Zahra found herself alone on the porch, staring at the mountains. She thought about her father's voice. About Liang's sacrifice. About the life she could have had, and the one she now chose to build.
Elijah joined her, two mugs of ginger tea in hand. He handed her one, then said, "You still dream about it?"
She nodded. "The lab. The bell. The voices I don't recognize."
He glanced at her. "They're probably yours."
She smiled faintly. "Or yours."
Just then, his phone vibrated. No number. No name. Just a message:
"She's not the only one. The final test begins in Seoul. Come if you want the others to live."
They looked at each other.
Elijah muttered, "We were supposed to be done."
Zahra set down her mug. "We were never supposed to survive," she said. "But we did."
She turned toward the door. "Let's pack."
TO BE CONTINUED....