For the next several days, Wolfen watched.
He was subtle about it—he'd had decades of practice at being unseen, at observing without being observed. But Eva noticed anyway. The Prime in her, the thing that made her more than human, registered his attention like a low hum in the back of her mind.
She didn't confront him. Didn't acknowledge it. Just went about her days, living in the bunker with the others, waiting for whatever came next.
And she changed.
It was small at first. A joke here, a sarcastic comment there. Leo was complaining about the food—again—and Eva looked up from cleaning her nails and said, "You know, if you chew with your mouth closed, it tastes exactly the same but you sound less like a dying animal."
Leo blinked. Stared. Then burst out laughing.
"Did you just—was that a joke? From Eva?"
She shrugged, but her lips twitched.
Later, Derek was struggling to re-bandage a wound on his arm, his stone-hardened skin making the process awkward. Eva walked past, glanced at him, and said, "You know, most people use both hands for that. It's not a competitive sport."
Derek's jaw dropped. "Did you just... roast me?"
"I don't know what that means," she said, walking away. "But probably."
Maya caught her in the corridor that evening, a strange look on her face. "You're different."
Eva stopped. Turned. "Am I?"
"You're making jokes. Eva doesn't make jokes. Eva is the serious one. The leader. The one who holds us together."
"Maybe I'm tired of holding." Eva's voice was quiet, but not sad. Just... matter-of-fact. "Maybe I want to laugh for once. Is that so wrong?"
Maya studied her for a long moment. The Omega stirred beneath her skin, whispering something she couldn't quite hear. "No," she said finally. "It's not wrong. It's just... different."
"People change," Eva said. And walked away.
---
That night, Eva made her way to her room. The corridors were quiet, the others settled into their various sleeping spaces. Only the ever-present hum of the bunker's systems broke the silence.
She was almost to her door when Wolfen stepped out of the shadows.
"Ur changing, I see."
Eva stopped. Didn't turn. "People change."
"By killing someone who was already dead?" His voice was quiet, but it carried. Always carried.
She turned slowly, facing him. In the dim corridor light, his golden eyes seemed to glow, fixed on her with an intensity that would have made anyone else flinch.
"Perhaps," she said.
"Did she tell you anything? Before..." He trailed off, but they both knew what he meant. Before you broke her. Before you made her heart stop from sheer terror.
"No." Eva's voice was flat. "But I know where your maker is."
Wolfen's posture shifted—just slightly, just a fraction, but she caught it. "How?"
"South Pole. In a prison built specifically for him. Guarded by ten Alphas who know nothing else." She met his gaze steadily. "That's where they put Absolute-Five."
Wolfen was silent for a long moment. Then: "How do you know that?"
Eva looked away. For the first time, something flickered in her expression—uncertainty, maybe. Or fear.
"It seems I'm seeing memories. Memories that aren't mine."
"Whose are they?"
"Absolute Two's." The name hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. "The original Eva. The one they cloned us from. I'm seeing glimpses of her life. Her thoughts. Her..." She paused, searching for the word. "Her pleasures."
Wolfen's eyes narrowed. "That's... interesting."
"Interesting." Eva laughed—a small, hollow sound. "That's what you call it? I'm seeing memories from a psychopath who helped build this nightmare. I'm feeling things I've never felt before. Wanting things I've never wanted before. And you call it interesting."
"What would you call it?"
She met his gaze again, and for a moment, he saw something in her eyes that he recognized. Something he saw every time he looked in a mirror.
"Terrifying," she whispered. "It's terrifying, Wolfen. Because I liked it. When I was with her—when I was cutting her, when she was screaming—I liked it. And I don't know if that's me, or if it's her, or if there's even a difference anymore."
Wolfen stepped closer. Not threatening—just... present. Solid. An anchor in the storm.
"There's a difference," he said quietly. "I know, because I've been where you are. I've felt what you're feeling. The pleasure of control. The joy of watching someone break. It's intoxicating. It's also a lie."
"A lie?"
"It's not you feeling those things. It's the power. The power feels good, so you think you feel good. But when it's over—when they're dead and the screaming stops—what's left?" He held her gaze. "I'll tell you. Nothing. Just emptiness. And the knowledge that you're one step further from the person you used to be."
Eva's eyes glistened. "Then why do you keep doing it? Why do you keep torturing, keep killing, keep being that person?"
"Because someone has to." His voice was gentle, of all things. "Because if I don't do it, someone I love might have to. And I'd rather carry the emptiness myself than watch them try."
He reached out, slowly, giving her time to pull away. She didn't. His hand rested on her shoulder, warm through the thin fabric of her shirt.
"You're not becoming me, Eva. You're becoming yourself. And yourself is someone who felt a dark thing and recognized it for what it was. That's not evil. That's awareness. What you do with that awareness—that's what matters."
She looked up at him, and for the first time in days, her eyes were clear. Present. Herself.
"What if I can't control it? What if the memories keep coming, keep changing me?"
"Then we'll deal with it." He almost smiled. "Together. That's what family does, right? Deal with each other's terrible, world-ending problems?"
A laugh escaped her—surprised, genuine, utterly human. "You're calling us family now?"
"Don't get used to it." But his eyes were warm. "Now get some sleep. Tomorrow, we figure out how to get to the South Pole without freezing to death. And then we go find my maker."
He turned to leave.
"Wolfen."
He paused.
"Thank you."
He didn't turn around. Didn't acknowledge the words. But his voice, when it came, was softer than she'd ever heard it:
"Don't thank me yet. The hard part's just starting."
He disappeared into the shadows, leaving Eva alone in the corridor, her hand pressed to her chest where her heart—her real heart, her own heart—beat steady and strong.
She was changing. That was true.
But maybe, just maybe, she was changing into someone who could handle it.