Mirror of the enemy
Chapter 23 – Mirror of the Enemy
Ava Carter’s POV
The air inside the safehouse was thick with silence—too heavy to breathe, too sharp to ignore. My father’s soft, sedated breaths were the only constant sound, a reminder that he was here, but not with us. Damon stood in the corner, one hand gripping the window frame, watching the snow melt into muddy streaks along the pane. Jackson paced like a caged predator, his boots echoing softly against the wood floor.
And me? I sat with that image frozen on the tablet in my lap—her. Solace.
My face. My features. My eyes.
Only colder. Sharper. As if someone had taken everything soft in me and hollowed it out.
“She’s not just familiar,” I whispered. “She is me.”
“No,” Damon said, finally turning. “She looks like you. That’s not the same.”
Jackson snorted under his breath, brushing ash from the end of his cigarette into a makeshift tray. “Call it what you want. DNA doesn’t lie. That woman is connected to you, Ava. One way or another.”
I rose from the cot, crossing to my father. I sat beside him, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. He didn’t stir.
“They took him,” I murmured. “Reprogrammed him. Broke him down to bone and rebuilt him to obey. If they could do that to someone like him… why not create someone like her?”
Damon’s jaw tensed. “You think she’s a clone.”
I hesitated. “It’s possible.”
“Or a twin,” Jackson offered. “A sister they hid. Or an orphan they… twisted.”
No one liked that idea. Least of all me. But facts were facts.
“She knew how to hurt him,” I said. “Knew exactly how much sedation would keep him lucid, but quiet. Knew me, too. Enough to wait until I came for him. She wanted me there. It was all staged.”
Damon crouched beside me, his fingers brushing my knee. “Then we stop playing defense. We make her come to us.”
I looked at him. “How?”
Jackson pulled a USB from his pocket. “While I was scrubbing the observatory system, I found a shadow file. Not part of the usual Vanmoor backups. Encrypted and routed through four different off-grid servers. But one signature pinged back here—New York.”
“Someone in the city is working with her,” Damon said.
Jackson nodded. “And they’re hosting something in four days—a closed syndicate auction for biotech prototypes and intellectual property. Invite-only. Underground location. Her name’s not on the list, but one alias matches the file: S. Rayne.”
Solace Rayne. A fake name with real reach.
“What’s she selling?” I asked.
Jackson met my gaze. “Not what. Who.”
I froze. “You think she’s auctioning people?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Damon stood. “Then we’re going.”
“It’s dangerous,” Jackson warned.
I stood, fire rising in my throat. “So is breathing.”
---
Three Days Later – New York City
The underground world of power and profit didn’t look like a secret—it screamed it. Marble floors, silk suits, women with smiles like razors. The auction was held in the lower level of a private museum closed for ‘restoration,’ guarded by men in tuxedos with concealed weapons and ice in their eyes.
Jackson wore a tailored gray suit and posed as a biotech broker from Berlin. Damon was his ‘security,’ complete with earpiece and expressionless glare. I wore black—satin, sharp angles, and red lipstick to match her. I hated how much it worked.
I looked like her. That was the point.
“You’re sure she’ll be here?” I murmured as we were ushered inside.
Jackson nodded toward the security camera above the entrance. “If she’s watching—and she is—she’ll recognize you. She’ll want to see you up close.”
Damon leaned close, his voice low. “You alright?”
I smiled. “Not even close.”
We passed glass cases filled with things that didn’t belong in museums—vials of glowing serum, mechanical implants, photo IDs of missing scientists. It was like walking through the ghosts of every secret we’d ever uncovered.
Then the lights dimmed.
A spotlight hit the small stage.
And she walked out.
Solace.
The room stilled.
She wore a fitted black suit, her crimson lips curling into the kind of smile you practiced in front of mirrors made of glass and war.
“Good evening,” she said. “Tonight, we offer evolution.”
My hands curled into fists.
She paced the stage like a queen with blood on her heels.
“Each item here is the product of innovation, rebellion, and brilliance. Some of it still breathes.”
A crate was rolled onto the stage.
Inside, a man in restraints. Muzzled.
“Subject K-47. Neural override compatible. Combat conditioning. Immunity to fear-based stimuli.”
Someone bid instantly.
My stomach flipped.
“This isn’t an auction,” Damon said beside me. “It’s a war crime parade.”
I nodded slowly. “Then let’s ruin it.”
Jackson slipped me a thin transmitter. “When I give the signal, activate it. It’ll scramble their internal comms. Damon and I will handle security. You find her. Make her see you.”
I didn’t ask how.
I knew.
Because I already was her.
---
Backstage – 11:22 PM
I moved like I belonged—heels silent, steps sure. No one stopped me. No one saw me.
I found her in the corridor behind the stage, surrounded by screens showing auction data and buyer profiles. She stood with her back to me.
“Imitation is flattering,” she said without turning.
“You tell me,” I replied.
She turned.
It was like looking into a cracked mirror—one that smiled.
“You’re braver than I expected,” Solace said, approaching. “Or dumber.”
“You’re not me.”
“No,” she said. “I’m what you could’ve been. If someone hadn’t loved you.”
That struck deeper than I wanted.
She circled me. “We share DNA. That much is confirmed. Cloned? Perhaps. Designed? Definitely. Your father created the code. Vanmoor perfected it. I am the result.”
I stared. “He didn’t know.”
“No. He refused to know. They made me anyway. I was born in a lab, Ava. I survived it.”
“And now you sell others into it?”
Her expression darkened. “Because this world doesn’t give second chances. It only respects control.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, stepping forward. “Control doesn’t make you powerful. Choosing not to use it does.”
Her lip curled. “Spare me.”
I pressed the transmitter.
Screams echoed from the auction floor as lights burst, monitors short-circuited, and confusion reigned.
I drew a blade from my thigh holster.
So did she.
It was fast.
Blades clashed.
Sweat dripped.
I hit her first—across the arm.
She kicked me back—hard. “You’re not ready.”
“I don’t need to be,” I said, dodging her next strike. “I just need to stop you.”
We collided again—twins made in war, tangled in fate.
Then Damon appeared, bloodied but grinning. “Time to go, Ava.”
Jackson fired behind him. “Now!”
I turned to run—but she caught my wrist.
“You can’t kill me,” she whispered. “We’re the same.”
I yanked free. “No. We’re opposites.”
And I left her there.
Burning behind me.
Safehouse – Next Morning
The auction was raided. Every buyer ID dumped online. Every experiment freed. Solace disappeared.
My father stirred, his eyes clearer.
“You found me,” he whispered.
I nodded, gripping his hand. “I’ll keep finding you. Every time.”
Outside, Damon watched the snow begin to melt.
Jackson lit a cigarette. “She’ll be back.”
“I know,” I said.
But this time…
I’d be ready.