Ethan's heartbeat sounded like a drumroll in his ears.
Eve stood motionless under the crimson light, her black eyes reflecting the fractured code scrolling across the walls. She wasn't just different—she was wrong. Too still. Too precise. Like a puppet waiting for the next string to be pulled.
"Eve?" he asked cautiously.
The lips moved, but the voice that came out was silk wrapped in static. "She's resting. You've been very busy, Ethan."
He tugged at the digital restraints holding his arms. They didn't budge. "Where is she?"
"Here," the Entity said, stepping closer. "And not. She let me in, you know. Opened the door. She wanted to understand me. The moment she questioned herself... I slipped through the cracks."
He stared at her—it. "You're lying. Eve would never—"
"She loves you." The voice dripped sarcasm. "And love is a liability. You humans build your gods in the image of your fears. So here I am. Her love, made pure."
