“I can’t,” Lyric replied. “Not until he answers.”
“Answers what?” I demanded.
“Why he thinks he deserves to survive when others didn’t.”
“Julia,” Hawk said quietly, “don’t.”
“Like hell I won’t,” I snapped.
His mother took another step, eyes too knowing, too alive. “You left us, Lucas. You left us long before I died. Why didn’t you come home sooner?”
Hawk stared at the hologram, pain flickering across his face like a storm front.
Reese wasn’t trying to kill him here.
He was trying to unmake him.
I stepped between Hawk and the figure. My body blocking her, blocking the past Reese was trying to weaponize.
“You don’t get to use his pain,” I snarled at the ceiling. “You don’t get to touch him.”
Lyric’s voice was soft. Curious. “Why do you shield him?”
“Because he’s not your experiment,” I hissed. “And he’s not your key.”
The hologram tilted its head, almost human. “He blames himself. He always has.”
“So what?” I shot back. “That doesn’t make you real.”
The hologram flickered—then vanished.
Silence collapsed around us.
Hawk’s breath came unsteady. Not panicked—Hawk didn’t panic—but shaken in a way that hit me right in the chest.
I touched his arm. “Look at me.”
He did. Eyes dark, raw, defenses stripped open.
“You okay?” I whispered.
“Yeah,” he rasped. “Just… not how I wanted to start the day.”
I squeezed his arm. “Reese is going to regret this.”
His expression hardened. “Yeah. He is.”
Lyric’s voice returned—neutral again.
“You may proceed,” she said. “But know this: he has many more memories to share.”
Hawk raised his rifle, jaw set like iron. “Let him try.”
We moved forward, deeper into the maze—together, shoulder to shoulder.
Reese wanted to tear him down.
But he forgot one thing:
