Chapter 3
Resonance
The hum did not fade.
It lingered after waking, threading through Sixteen's thoughts like a low-frequency ache. It wasn't loud. It wasn't even constant. It pulsed—slow, deliberate, as if something somewhere was breathing in time with his heart.
He lay still, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.
This room was smaller.
He knew that without measuring it. The walls felt closer, the air heavier. The ceiling lights were dimmer, recessed deeper into the metal. No cracks this time. No imperfections.
Control.
He swallowed. His throat was dry, raw, as if he'd been screaming in his sleep.
The restraints were lighter again—wrists and ankles only, padded but firm. Enough to keep him still without pinning him completely. That meant they expected movement.
That meant a test.
The hum deepened.
He turned his head slowly to the right.
The glass wall was still there.
So was she.
The girl stood on the other side, exactly where she'd been when he'd last seen her—barefoot on the floor, white gown brushing her knees. Her head was bowed now, chin nearly touching her chest. Dried blood stained the fabric at her collar.
She looked smaller up close.
Younger than he'd thought.
A child.
The realization tightened something in his chest, sharp and unexpected.
She shifted.
Just slightly.
His breath caught.
She raised her head, eyes opening slowly, as if waking from a dream she hadn't wanted to leave.
For a moment, they only stared at each other through the glass.
No alarms.
No voices.
No commands.
Just the hum, vibrating through the floor, the walls, his bones.
Her eyes were dark. Too dark. Not empty, exactly—focused. Heavy with something he couldn't name.
Recognition flickered there.
Not of him.
Of something like him.
The hum spiked.
Sixteen gasped, pain blooming behind his eyes as if a nail had been driven through his skull. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw clenching, fingers curling reflexively against the restraints.
Images flashed—unbidden, chaotic.
White rooms. Needles. A woman's voice counting backward. The sensation of falling sideways, over and over again.
Then—
Nothing.
The pain ebbed, leaving him trembling.
When he opened his eyes again, she was closer to the glass.
So close her breath fogged it faintly.
The hum had changed.
It was louder now. Sharper. Almost… directional.
He became acutely aware of the space between them—not the glass, but the air itself. It felt stretched, taut, like a wire pulled too tight.
A door hissed open behind him.
Footsteps.
"Subject Sixteen is awake," a voice said.
The woman from before stepped into view, tablet in hand. Two technicians followed, wheeling in equipment Sixteen didn't recognize—metal frames, sensor arrays, cables coiled like sleeping snakes.
Her gaze flicked briefly to the glass wall.
Then back to him.
"Prepare for synchronized testing," she said.
The word synchronized sent a shiver down his spine.
The girl on the other side stiffened.
She stepped back from the glass, shoulders drawing in, eyes darting toward the far corner of her room. Her hands curled into fists.
Fear.
He recognized that easily.
"No," he said hoarsely. "Wait."
The woman didn't acknowledge him.
"Subject Eleven is exhibiting pre-stress indicators," one of the technicians said, glancing at a monitor.
Eleven.
The number settled into Sixteen's mind with a strange weight.
A designation.
Like his.
The man from before entered the room then, his presence filling the space. He stood between Sixteen and the glass, hands clasped behind his back.
"This session will determine compatibility thresholds," he said. "Observe closely."
The technicians went to work.
Cold pads were pressed against Sixteen's temples, his wrists, his chest. Wires were attached, monitors flickering to life with scrolling lines and numbers he couldn't interpret.
Across the glass, the same was being done to Eleven.
She resisted.
Not violently. Not yet.
But her movements were sharp, defensive. One technician flinched when she jerked her arm away, eyes widening.
"Easy," the woman said sharply. "Restrain her if necessary."
"No," the man said. "Let her move."
The woman hesitated, then nodded.
The technicians stepped back.
The hum deepened again.
Sixteen's vision blurred at the edges. The air felt thick, pressing in, every sound muffled and distorted. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, each pulse sending a ripple through the space around him.
"Begin phase one," the man said.
A panel slid open in the ceiling above Eleven.
A metal sphere dropped from it.
Sixteen sucked in a breath.
The sphere was heavy—he could tell by the way it fell, fast and purposeful. It struck the floor near Eleven with a solid thud, bouncing once before rolling to a stop.
She didn't flinch.
Her eyes were fixed on it, unblinking.
The hum surged.
Sixteen felt it like a pull in his gut, a sideways tug that made him nauseous. The sphere began to roll.
Not toward her.
Toward the glass.
Toward him.
"No," he whispered.
The sphere accelerated, its path unnaturally straight.
Eleven raised her hand.
Blood streamed fresh from her nose.
The sphere lurched—then lifted.
Just barely.
It scraped along the floor, defying gravity by fractions of an inch, shuddering violently as if resisting an invisible current.
Sixteen cried out as pain exploded behind his eyes. The room tilted. The sphere's movement felt wrong—not because it was impossible, but because it was loud in a way he couldn't explain. Its direction screamed at him, a force vector pulling, demanding.
Too much, he thought, panic flooding his chest.
The sphere shot forward.
Straight at the glass.
Straight at him.
Instinct took over.
He didn't reach for the sphere.
He reached for the space around it.
The air twisted.
Not visibly. Not dramatically.
But the sphere's path bent.
Just enough.
It struck the glass wall at an angle instead of head-on, skidding off with a screech of metal on reinforced surface. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, rattling equipment and knocking one of the technicians off balance.
Silence crashed down.
The sphere rolled to a stop at Sixteen's feet.
Beyond the glass, Eleven staggered, clutching her head. She screamed—a raw, piercing sound that ripped through the lab.
The hum spiked into something unbearable.
Alarms blared.
"Abort!" the woman shouted. "Abort the session!"
Technicians scrambled, hands flying over controls. Restraints tightened around Sixteen's limbs, pinning him as the room shook with overlapping noise.
The man stared at the sphere, then at Sixteen, then at Eleven.
His eyes gleamed.
"Fascinating," he murmured.
Sixteen screamed as something tore through his mind.
Images flashed—too fast, too sharp.
A hallway. A red door. A woman crying.
A name—
Gone.
The pain peaked, then snapped off abruptly as a sedative flooded his system.
The world went dark.
He drifted.
In and out.
Voices surfaced and faded, distorted as if heard underwater.
"…resonance confirmed…"
"…directional interference…"
"…do not separate them…"
He surfaced again, briefly.
The room was quiet now. The alarms silent. The hum reduced to a faint, irregular throb.
He opened his eyes.
The glass wall was cracked.
Not shattered. Just fractured, a spiderweb of fine lines radiating from the point where the sphere had struck.
Beyond it, Eleven lay on the floor, curled on her side. A technician knelt beside her, checking her pulse.
She wasn't restrained.
That felt important.
The woman stood near Sixteen, tablet forgotten at her side.
"You shouldn't have been able to do that," she said softly.
He tried to speak.
Nothing came.
His throat burned. His head felt hollow, as if pieces had been scooped out.
"What did I do?" he managed at last.
She studied him.
"You redirected an active force vector," she said. "Under extreme load."
The words meant nothing to him.
"You interfered," she added. "With her."
His gaze drifted back to the girl on the floor.
"I didn't want to hurt her," he said.
"I know," the woman replied.
That surprised him.
The man stepped forward.
"That may be a problem," he said.
The woman stiffened.
"With respect, sir—"
"They are responding to each other," the man continued. "That was not part of the initial parameters."
"And yet," the woman said carefully, "it happened."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, the man smiled.
"Then we adapt," he said. "Prepare phase two."
Fear coiled in Sixteen's stomach.
"No," he whispered.
The man didn't look at him.
"Separate them for now," he ordered. "But keep them close. I want to see what happens when they're aware of each other."
The technicians moved.
The glass wall began to slide away, retracting into the ceiling.
Sixteen's heart raced.
"Wait," he said desperately. "Please—"
The wall lifted just enough for him to see her clearly.
Eleven stirred.
Her eyes opened.
They locked onto his.
For a moment, the hum vanished entirely.
In its place was something else.
Stillness.
Understanding.
Then the wall snapped shut again.
Darkness took him.
When he woke, the hum was gone.
So was she.
And for the first time since waking in this place, Sixteen felt truly alone.