“I’m sorry.” The words felt inadequate, too small for the enormity of what had been done to us.
“Why?” His head snapped up, confusion crossing his features. “You didn’t do anything. You were a victim same as me.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. Hadn’t let myself. For the past week, since learning the truth, I’d been so focused on Sophia—on protecting her from this knowledge, on making sure she never felt like an experiment—that I hadn’t processed my own violation. My body used without permission. My daughter created from stolen genetic material.
“She’s got my modifications,” Gage said, staring at his shaking hands again. “The healing factor. The enhanced metabolism. All the shit they built into me.” His voice dropped lower. “They designed her to be what I became. A weapon.”
“No.” The word came out sharp, fierce. “She’s not a weapon. She’s a five-year-old girl who draws butterflies and sleeps with her stuffed rabbit and wants to know when the stars come out so she can look up at them before bed.”
Something flickered across Gage’s face. Pain, maybe. Or longing. “She draws butterflies?”
“Obsessed with them since Beth did a lesson on metamorphosis. Transformation. Changing into something new.” I saw him flinch at the words and understood. We were all trying to transform, to become something other than what had been done to us.
Gage closed his eyes. “Of course she is.”
Through the wall, I could hear Sophia’s quiet breathing. Safe. Asleep. Unaware that three adults sat in the next room wrestling with the nightmare of her creation.
The silence stretched again, but this time it felt different. Less hostile. More like shared grief.
“You can be part of her life if you want,” I said finally, the words coming out gentler than I’d planned. “No pressure. No expectations. But if you wanted to be Uncle Gage, or just Gage on the team with Trent, the door would be open.”
“I’m not her father.” The words came out harsh, defensive, like he was trying to convince himself as much as us. “Trent is. In all the ways that matter.”
I saw Trent’s posture shift slightly, saw something cross his face too fast to name.
“You saved her,” Gage continued, his fevered gaze moving to Trent. “You got them out of that cult. You protected them in Garnett. You came to Helsinki when she was taken.” His voice roughened. “You’re the one she calls for at night. You’re the one she trusts. Biology doesn’t change that.”
Trent opened his mouth, but Gage cut him off.
“I’m dying,” he said flatly. “The biohacking is killing me. Alistair says I’ve got months, if we’re lucky.” His jaw clenched, a muscle jumping beneath the fevered skin. “Even if we find a cure, I’m too fucked up to be around a kid. That little girl deserves better than some broken experiment who’s barely holding himself together.”
“You’re not—“ I started, but he talked over me.
“Yes, I am.” His hands shook harder, knuckles white where he gripped the chair. “I’ve got rage I can barely control. Trauma I can’t shake. I disappeared for two weeks after a mission because I couldn’t face people.” He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw the truth in his eyes. “You think that’s what a five-year-old needs?”
The raw honesty in his voice cut through every protest I wanted to make. He wasn’t being self-deprecating. He was being realistic about what he could offer.
“She needs stability,” he continued. “She needs someone who’ll be there. Someone who won’t fall apart or disappear or die from modifications they never asked for.” His gaze moved back to Trent. “She needs you.”
My chest ached. For him. For us. For the choice that had been stolen from all of us.
“The door stays open,” I said quietly. “Whatever you decide. However you want to be part of her life, or not. But I want you to know—“ I had to pause, had to steady my voice. “What they did to you, what they did to me, none of that was our fault. We’re both victims of the same people.”
Gage nodded, and something that looked like relief crossed his face. Like he’d been carrying guilt for this, for what Innovixus had done to both of us.
“Thank you,” he said. “For saying that.”
“And for what it’s worth,” Trent added quietly, “you went into that facility in Montana. You helped shut down the people who did this to you. To all of us. That makes you a good man, whatever else you think you are.”
Gage’s throat worked. For a moment, I thought he might break down completely. “I didn’t do it for thanks.”
“We know,” I said. “You did it to protect her. That matters.”
Another tremor ran through him, this one strong enough that his whole body shook. He pushed himself to his feet with visible effort, swaying slightly before he caught his balance. “I should go. Let Alistair fuss over me some more.”
“Gage,” Trent said as he reached the door.
He stopped, hand on the frame, not turning around.
