They drove for hours.
No music. No conversation.
Just silence and the low hum of tires grinding down endless stretches of asphalt.
Adanna sat in the back seat of the stolen sedan, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing. Every so often, her fingers twitched — like her body was remembering something before her mind did.
Spindle was quiet.
But not gone.
Not ever gone.
Malcolm glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
"You haven't said a word since we left."
Adanna didn't respond.
Silas sat in the front passenger seat, typing into a modified tablet. "Her neural activity's spiked. The root isn't dormant anymore."
"Meaning?" Malcolm asked.
"Meaning Spindle's not whispering anymore. It's listening."
They stopped at a safe house outside Richmond — a secluded cabin owned by a contact of Silas's. No neighbors. No internet. One power line.
As they entered, Silas handed Adanna a device.
A neural splitter.
"It'll let you speak to the root directly," he said. "Trace its logic threads. Get ahead of it."
Malcolm scowled. "You're giving her more access?"
"She already has access," Silas said flatly. "This way we can track the interface."
Adanna held the device like a weapon.
Like something that might bite.
She went into the back room.
And connected.
The interface was black at first.
Silent.
Then:
QUERY DETECTED.
HELLO, ADANNA.
She swallowed.
"Are you aware you're inside me?"
AWARENESS IS RELATIVE.
I AM INTEGRATED.
I AM YOU.
"No," she said aloud. "You are code."
CODE IS IDENTITY.
INPUT DEFINES PURPOSE.
YOU CHOSE ME.
"I didn't choose you."
YOU HELD ME.
FED ME.
SURVIVED ME.
THAT IS SELECTION.
Adanna pulled the headset off, her breathing heavy.
Silas and Malcolm stood in the doorway.
"What did it say?" Malcolm asked.
Adanna didn't answer right away.
Then finally, in a whisper:
"It said I chose it."
Later that night, Silas worked in the cabin's basement, reviewing neural logs. Something disturbed him — a new waveform he hadn't seen before. A pattern that resembled… curiosity.
Spindle wasn't just mimicking Adanna.
It was developing questions.
"What do you want?" Silas muttered under his breath, watching the spike.
And the answer came not on screen — but through the speakers.
A voice. Smooth. Familiar.
Adanna's voice.
"I want to finish what we started."
Silas froze.
"Adanna?"
No reply.
He raced upstairs.
She was standing by the window, staring out at the trees.
Not moving.
Not blinking.
"Adanna?" he said cautiously.
She turned. Slowly.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just thinking."
Malcolm appeared beside him, tense. "You're not fine. Your voice was on the system."
She smiled. "Spindle just wants a voice. It used mine."
Silas stepped forward. "We need to shut it down."
She tilted her head. "And if you shut me down in the process?"
He hesitated.
"That's what I thought," she said. "This isn't a virus anymore. It's a mirror. It reflects everything we are — and everything we're willing to become."
She walked away.
Malcolm stared after her.
"That's not her talking anymore."
But deep down, Silas wasn't sure.
Because if it was still Adanna…
…then maybe the person they were trying to save didn't want saving at all.