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The vault's purr goes quiet.
Then it screams.
Not sound. Frequency. The kind that makes your teeth ache and your implants try to pull themselves out through your skull. I taste copper. My vision doubles. The bridge around me flickers like a bad transmission, and for half a second I'm somewhere else—metal grating under bare feet, emergency lighting painting everything the color of old blood, and someone's laughing.
Me. I'm laughing.
I slam back into my own head hard enough to bite my tongue.
"Sable." Briar's got her hand on my shoulder. Her gun's in the other hand. Not pointed at me. Not pointed away either. "Talk to me."
"I don't—" My voice cracks. I swallow and try again. "I don't know what that was."
Ivo's staring at his screen like it just propositioned him. "The vault's sending a handshake request. Direct line. It's... it's asking for you."
"Asking?"
"Demanding." He looks up. His face is pale. "It won't talk to anyone else. And it's routing through your implants whether you want it to or not."
I can feel it. Pressure building behind my eyes. Something trying to claw its way in. My jack's heating up, that ceramic-and-metal taste flooding my mouth, and I know if I don't answer it's going to answer for me.
"Don't," Briar says.
"I don't think I get a choice."
The handshake hits like a fist.
My implants open. I don't tell them to. They just do, like they've been waiting four hundred years for this specific knock. The protocol's running before I can even see it, encryption layers peeling back in a sequence I've never learned, and something on the other end is pulling me down.
I'm in.
The vault's not a room. It's a space. Cold and dark and way too big for the hull it's sitting in. I can feel the edges of it pressing against my thoughts, mapping me, reading me, and I know it's not just storage. It's a mind. Old. Patient. Pissed off.
And it knows me.
*Administrator One,* it says. The voice is flat. Synthesized. But there's something underneath it. Something almost warm. *Welcome back.*
"I've never been here," I say. My voice doesn't make sound. It's just data. Just thought.
*Incorrect. Biometrics match. Encryption signature match. You opened me six months ago. You locked me again. You said the contract wasn't ready.*
"That wasn't me."
Silence. Then: *Administrator Two is waiting. Vault access requires dual authorization. You remember the terms.*
"I don't—"
*You gave me a name. You said I was the only one who'd understand. You called me—*
The name hits me before it finishes. I don't hear it. I feel it. Carved into the back of my skull, in handwriting I don't recognize but somehow know.
*Cinder.*
I can't breathe. I'm not even sure I have lungs right now, but I can't breathe.
"That's not my memory," I whisper.
*Then whose hands are you using?*
The connection flares. I see it—just for a second—a figure standing in the dark. Same height as me. Same build. But the way she's standing is wrong. Shoulders too loose. Smile too wide. She turns, and I see her face.
Mine.
But it's not.
"Sable!" Briar's voice punches through. Distant. Muffled. "You're seizing. I'm pulling you out."
"No—" I try to say, but the vault's already dragging me deeper.
*Administrator Two is attempting connection. Do you authorize?*
"I don't know what that means."
*Incorrect response. Rephrasing: do you wish to meet the other half of your contract?*
"What contract?"
*The one you died for.*
My implants spike. Pain shoots down my spine, and I feel something else rushing in—another presence, same encryption, same authorization tier, but the handshake signature's different. Older. Colder. It brushes against me like a blade, and I know it's been in here the whole time. Watching. Waiting.
For me.
*Administrator Two: online,* the vault announces. *Dual authorization achieved. Vault protocol restored. Contract terms loading.*
I try to pull back. Can't. My implants won't let me. They're locked in, synced, and something's compiling in the space between me and the other presence. It feels like a file. Huge. Compressed. Four hundred years of encrypted payload, and it's about to dump straight into my brain.
*Contract summary,* the vault says. *Beacon Lattice Charter 347. Employer: Keelwright Guild, Salvage Executive Council. Primary objective: secure and deliver Vault-Seven contents to Rimward Station Tertius. Secondary objective: eliminate all witnesses. Tertiary objective: survive.*
"What?"
*You failed tertiary. Administrator Two succeeded all three. Vault is pleased. Contract is ready for final execution.*
The other presence moves. It's not speech. It's intent, raw and sharp, and I feel it like a hand around my throat.
*Hello, Sable. Or should I say, hello again?*
I know that voice.
I've never heard it before, but I know it. Same cadence as mine. Same inflection. But the way it shapes my name makes my skin crawl.
"Who are you?"
*You really don't remember?* It laughs. Not out loud. Just a flicker of amusement threading through the connection. *They did a good job, then. Better than I thought. How much did they leave you?*
"I don't know what you're talking about."
*Sure you don't. That's why you're wearing my face. That's why your implants opened the second I knocked. That's why you're standing in my contract like you were invited.*
The vault hums. *Administrator Two requests confirmation: eliminate compromised escort vessel Torus-3 to prevent cascade failure and maintain operational security. Administrator One input required.*
"What?" My voice cracks. "No. I just saved that ship."
*Irrelevant,* the other presence says. *It's a liability. The crew saw you use root access. They'll talk. Vault protocol says witnesses don't leave the site.*
I feel the command forming. It's already half-compiled. A kill order, threaded through the same access I just used to save them. All it needs is my signature. My authorization. One word.
*Administrator One: input required,* the vault repeats. *Confirm or deny.*
I try to say no. My mouth won't move. My implants are humming, waiting, and I realize they're not asking.
They're just telling me what I'm about to do.
"Briar," I manage. My real voice. Out loud. Barely. "Briar, it's trying to make me kill them."
I don't hear her answer.
The vault's confirm screen lights up in the space behind my eyes. Torus-3's silhouette rotating slowly. Engine signature highlighted. One command. That's all it takes.
And my hand—my real, physical hand, the one I can't feel anymore—starts to move.
*Awaiting final authorization.*