Page 150 of Hidden Echoes

It makes sense, right? I can’t imagine how it feels to be in his shoes—walking through all of this, constantly having to hide parts of yourself just to get through the day.

I catch myself staring at him. I can’t help it.

“You keep staring at me with that intense look,” One says, his voice laced with amusement, and I roll my eyes. Speaking Spanish with him—it’s always been our thing. Back when we were kids, it was the only language we had that didn’t get us into trouble with the guards. But, of course, our father hated it.

He said Spanish was only for the enemy and that we needed to learn perfect English. I’m not sure when it happened, but I started thinking in English more than Spanish. Still, I’m fluent.

“It’s hard to believe you’re here. How come Father never recognized you?”

One shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Cory made sure I grew up away from the Cartel in every way. I started going on missions to kill them when I was older. Up until then, the only thing that resembled me to Nico was my eyes. No one would make the connection. And I was careful not to draw his attention. He thinks I’m dead. I wanted it to stay that way.”

“Not only does he think you’re dead, he’s built an entire war on that lie,” I mutter.

He nods, as if this is something he’s long accepted. “I’m sorry you had to grow up in that place for so long.”

I let out a breath, the weight of it all pressing in on me. “I wasn’t always locked up, you know,” I say quietly, my gaze distant. “I lived in James’ mansion for a while, but it wasn’t like any ordinary place. It was... well, it was made for me. He just wanted me protected from the outside world, like some kind of cage with prettier walls.”

“Nico sold you to James.”

“Yeah,” I say, almost as if I’ve already come to terms with it. “After I killed my fiancé.”

“That’s my girl,” Seth says, his pride in me cutting through the seriousness.

“I hate him,” I whisper, my voice thick with the raw emotion I’ve been holding back. “But you know what? He didn’t even bother to face me. He just tossed me aside, sent me off for other people to deal with.”

“I’ll kill him for us,” One offers, and I can’t help but smile, even if it’s weak.

“Don’t let him find out you’re alive.”

“He will. Eventually,” he says, voice low and steady.

I feel the old, familiar weight of everything start to press in again, but I push it down, forcing myself to focus on what’s real.

“Seth,” I say his name for the first time, testing it, letting it sit between us. It feels strange but comforting. Before, we were two weapons, two numbers. Now, we’re something else.

We’re not just experiments anymore. I’m Mia, and he’s Seth. In this moment, we feel more real, more human than ever.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his hand resting on my shoulder like a promise.

“When did you stop being such a crybaby?” I tease, nostalgia thick in my voice. “You used to be the emotional one between us.”

“I don’t know. There was a point when those emotions just... drained out of me,” he says, his tone almost somber. And that hits me in a way I can’t explain.

Because before Seth left, I wasn’t trained like he was. I didn’t go through what he did. Sure, I had my own hell to live through, but nothing compares to what our father put him through.

Nico trained Seth like he was an extension of his own will, making him into something cold, something capable of destruction. He was only a kid back then.

I can’t really feel my pain, but I can feel every bit of his.

“It’s funny, you know,” Seth says, his voice cutting through the silence. “You look at me like I’m the one who needs saving. But you’re the one who lived there the longest. That was your reality.”

I smile, though it’s humorless. “He never cared about my existence. I was a blessing for a while, until he realized he couldn’t use me. Then he just sold me. I know what James did to me, I get it. But that doesn’t take away your pain, Seth.”

“What pain? I don’t feel any pain,” he says, shrugging, but there’s a hardness in his eyes that tells me otherwise.

I understand that. I do.

“Do you trust him?” Seth asks suddenly, his gaze flickering to the lock screen of my phone—Zane, headphones on, lost in his sketchbook, oblivious to everything else. I don’t know why I’m so protective of that moment, but I am.

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