The Prototype

Chapter 32

The hum of machinery and the glow of bright white lights surrounded Ethan as he worked late into the night in the Cortech lab. The prototype—Maia Coven's project—had become more than just an unfinished dream. It was now his responsibility, a mission he couldn't back down from. He had been given the resources, the backing, and the authority to bring it to life, but every step forward was still a reminder of the pain that had driven him here.

Maia's face haunted him in moments of silence. Every time he adjusted the prototype's settings, carefully recalibrating the fragments of energy stored in the device, he couldn't help but feel as though he was trying to resurrect her in some way—trying to finish what they had started together. He could still hear her laugh in his memories, see the determination in her eyes as they worked side by side. But she was gone. Gone because of the very force they had tried to control.

The lab was nearly empty, save for Ethan and a few scattered assistants who had gone home for the night. He didn't mind. He liked the quiet. It allowed him to focus on the work, to immerse himself in the task at hand, and—at times—distract himself from the grief.

His hand hovered over the control panel, adjusting the flow of energy into the prototype's core. The power was still unstable, but it was more controlled now. Safer, as promised. He couldn't help but marvel at how much had been achieved since he took this project under his wing. If Maia were here to see it, he knew she'd be proud. But she wasn't here.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes, the weight of loss pressing down on him once again. His fingers brushed the necklace he still wore—her necklace. A small memento he never took off, a symbol of the bond they had shared.

He sighed deeply. There had been nights when he would lie awake, convinced that somehow Maia's death had been his fault. If he had just acted faster. If he had just found a way to stop her before the prototype took over, maybe she would still be alive. The guilt gnawed at him, even with the progress he was making here at Cortech.

He had done his best to push those feelings aside. After all, Maia would want him to keep moving forward. Wouldn't she?

Meanwhile, in a sterile, quiet room far from Cortech, in a separate morgue building in New York, the sound of soft footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent morgue. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and formaldehyde as the coroner prepared the body of Maia Coven for her funeral. Her lifeless form lay pale and still on the cold metal table, naked and vulnerable, the remnants of the prototype's power still faintly pulsing in her veins.

The coroner, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a tired expression, paused in front of Maia's body. He adjusted his gloves, preparing to begin the process of examining her one last time before the funeral home came to take her. The tragedy of Maia's death hadn't escaped him, and there was a certain heaviness in the air, a sense of finality that came with preparing a body for burial.

"Poor girl," he murmured under his breath. "A bright mind, gone too soon."

He turned to leave the room briefly, heading toward the supply closet to gather the necessary tools for his task. The low whir of the door closing behind him was the only sound that broke the silence.

But as soon as he left, something unexpected happened.

A faint, almost imperceptible pulse began to emanate from within Maia's body. The energy that had once surged violently through her veins, part of the prototype that she and Ethan had been building together, had remained even after her death. It lay dormant inside her, hidden deep within her bloodstream, waiting for the right moment to awaken.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the tiny fragment of the prototype still lodged inside Maia began to vibrate, sending shockwaves of energy through her system. The pulse grew stronger, spreading like a wave, traveling from her chest, down to her limbs, into her organs. The energy she had once been so connected to stirred to life once again, and the faintest flicker of light danced beneath her skin.

Then—without warning—Maia's chest heaved.

A sharp gasp of air tore through her lungs, and her eyes shot open, wide with shock. Her hands instinctively shot out in front of her, bracing herself against the cold metal of the table. She was alive—her body trembling as the shock of being thrust back into the world hit her.

Her first thought was confusion—surrounded by sterile light and unfamiliar surroundings. Her second was panic. She wasn't dead. She was supposed to be dead. She was supposed to be gone.

She pushed herself up, her body weak but instinctively pulling her toward survival. She grabbed the nearest towel, wrapping it around her naked form, her breath shallow as her heart raced. Her mind spun. She didn't understand what had happened, how she could possibly be alive after everything.

Before she could even fully process what was going on, the door to the morgue creaked open. The coroner walked back into the room, arms full of supplies. He froze in shock as his eyes landed on the table.

There, in front of him, Maia sat—alive.

The coroner stumbled backward, dropping the supplies he was holding in a clattering mess, his face draining of color as his brain tried to process the impossibility of what he was witnessing. His mouth opened in a soundless scream, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Maia, still covering herself with the towel, met his gaze. Her voice was quiet but filled with confusion and uncertainty.

"Um..." she said, blinking rapidly, her voice raspy. "I think I need some more clothes... please."

The coroner stood frozen in the doorway, unable to utter a word, his mind racing. How was this possible? What did this mean?

And as Maia sat on the cold, sterile table, gasping for air, a new chapter in her life was about to begin. But for now, all she could focus on was one simple request:

"Clothes. Now."