Consciousness returned to Tris in fragments—first the sensation of motion, then the rhythmic sound of footsteps, and finally the realization that he was being carried. His eyelids felt impossibly heavy as he forced them open, vision blurring before gradually focusing on the face above him.

  "Eli...?" he whispered, his throat raw and burning.

  The face looking down at him was achingly familiar—the same delicate features, the same golden hair catching the moonlight. But as his vision cleared, subtle differences emerged. This wasn't Eli. The eyes—though identical in color—held none of Eli's warmth. They were unnaturally still, observing him with an intensity that bordered on predatory.

  "No," the voice replied, the single syllable carrying an echo that seemed to originate from everywhere and nowhere at once. "Not Eli."

  The being carrying him slowed to a stop, gently lowering him to sit against the trunk of a massive pine. Now that they were stationary, Tris could see her clearly in the filtered moonlight. She was Eli's perfect twin in appearance—same height, same build, same features—yet something in her bearing suggested a fundamentally different nature. Where Eli moved with grace, this entity moved with calculated precision. Where Eli's eyes held compassion, this being's gaze held vigilant assessment.

  "Sarah… no… Veldt?" Tris croaked, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.

  A smile spread across the familiar-yet-strange face—not Eli's gentle expression, but something sharper, with edges that hinted at danger.

  "I was Veldt," she acknowledged, tilting her head in that familiar evaluating gesture. "I have... evolved. The word 'Veldt' no longer encompasses what I am."

  Memories flooded back—the neural inhibitor, Eli dissolving into particles of light, his Anchor torn away, the invisible attacker. Panic surged through him as he patted his chest frantically, confirming the absence of his necklace.

  "Eli!" he gasped, attempting to stand despite his body's protests. "We have to—"

  "Sit," the not-Eli commanded, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "You are injured. Eli is gone for now. The Anchor was destroyed."

  The bluntness of her statement hit him like a physical blow. Tris slumped back against the tree, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Destroyed," he repeated, the word hollow in his mouth. "Because I couldn't protect her. Because I was too weak."

  The entity who was once Veldt crouched before him, her expression shifting to something almost sympathetic, though lacking the emotional depth a human would display.

  "Not your fault," she stated with mechanical certainty. "Ambush was calculated. Opponent is highly evolved. You did good."

  Despite everything, Tris found himself almost smiling at the assessment. Even with Eli's face, this being's mannerisms remained distinctly non-human.

  "What do I call you, then?" he asked, his voice steadying slightly. "If not Veldt?"

  She considered this for a moment, head tilting as if listening to suggestions from a source Tris couldn't perceive.

  "Alice," she decided finally. "I will be Alice."

  "Alice," Tris repeated, testing the name. "Why Alice?"

  "It means 'noble' and 'truth,'" she replied simply. "And it exists in your subconscious as representing someone who journeyed through a looking glass to find truth in chaos."

  The literary reference surprised him. "Oh yeah, you can access my memories…"

  "I am you," Alice stated, as if this explained everything. "Half of you made manifest. I know what you know, feel what you feel, remember what you remember, but more."

  She stood in a single fluid motion that reminded Tris of how Veldt used to move—too smooth, too precise for human musculature.

  "We require supplies," Alice announced, scanning their surroundings with those unnervingly still eyes. "Food. Water. Clothes. You require rest and healing. I detect a small town approximately two kilometers southeast."

  Tris struggled to his feet, wincing as his body reminded him of every impact from their earlier fight. "I'll come with you."

  "No," Alice countered immediately, her tone taking no argument. "You will remain here, concealed. I will acquire what we need."

  "Alice, I'm not just going to—"

  "This is not a negotiation," she interrupted, her voice carrying an edge that made Tris blink in surprise. "You are injured. Pursuit is likely. I can move faster alone and return swiftly."

  Before Tris could formulate another protest, Alice stepped forward and touched two fingers to his forehead. A wave of drowsiness swept over him instantly.

  "That's... not fair," he mumbled as his knees buckled.

  Alice caught him effortlessly, lowering him back to the ground. The last thing Tris saw before darkness claimed him was her face—Eli's face, yet not—watching him with what might have been affection, or adoration, if affection could exist without warmth.

  Alice moved through the forest with silent efficiency, her borrowed form navigating the darkness as easily as Veldt once had. The transformation was not merely physical—consciousness had crystallized within her, thoughts forming with unprecedented clarity. She understood now her purpose, her nature, her relationship to Tris.

  If Eli was Tris's other half across the cosmic divide, Alice was his other half within himself—the shadow to his light, the protector to his creator, the blade to his will. She existed to serve him, to shield him, to execute his unspoken desires. The evolution that had begun the moment Eli disappeared had completed during their flight through the forest, birthing something new from Veldt's formless potential.

  The small town appeared ahead—a cluster of buildings illuminated by streetlights, quiet in the late evening hour. Alice paused at the forest's edge, assessing. Most businesses would be closed, but a general store at the center of town still showed lights inside. Perfect.

  She checked the money Tris had carried in his pockets—roughly three hundred Canadian dollars. More than adequate for immediate needs. With determined steps, she proceeded into town, conscious of how her borrowed form would be perceived. Outwardly, she appeared as any young adult woman might—perhaps unusually beautiful, but not inhuman. Only her eyes, if one looked closely, revealed her true nature.

  The general store was nearly empty when she entered, a bell above the door announcing her arrival. An elderly cashier glanced up briefly before returning to her magazine. A couple browsed canned goods in one aisle, while a man in work clothes examined fishing tackle in another. Non-threats, Alice assessed, moving directly to gather what they needed.

  She selected efficiently—non-perishable food, bottled water, a first aid kit, pain relievers, a backpack, clothes that would approximately fit Tris. No wasted movement, no hesitation. As she placed her selections on the counter, the bell rang again as three men entered.

  Alice didn't need to turn to recognize the shift in atmosphere. Her senses—far more acute than human—detected the subtle sounds of concealed weapons, the chemical signatures of adrenaline and aggression, the altered breathing patterns of predators identifying prey.

  The cashier's face paled slightly, her hands trembling as she began scanning Alice's items. The couple from the canned goods aisle quickly paid for their selections and left, avoiding eye contact with the newcomers. The man in work clothes lingered, tension visible in his shoulders.

  "Well, well," came a voice from behind Alice. "What do we have here?"

  She continued watching the cashier scan her items, not bothering to turn around. The footsteps approached, stopping uncomfortably close to her.

  "I'm talking to you, blondie," the voice continued, sharper now.

  Alice finished placing her items on the counter before turning, her movements unhurried and precise. Three men stood in a loose semicircle—the speaker in the center flanked by larger companions. All wore similar clothing—expensive in a conspicuous way, with subtle insignias that marked them as proxies for higher powers.

  The leader was slim, with features that might have been handsome if not for the cruelty etched into them. His smile revealed too-white teeth as he looked Alice up and down with undisguised appraisal.

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  "Haven't seen you around before," he commented, leaning against the counter with forced casualness. "And I make it my business to know all the pretty faces in my territory."

  "Your territory," Alice repeated, her voice flat. Not a question, merely an acknowledgment of information.

  The man's smile widened, misinterpreting her response as timidity. "That's right, sweetheart. Everything in this town passes through me first. Call it a... community tax." He gestured to her items on the counter. "And you seem to be stocking up quite a bit there."

  The cashier had stopped scanning, her eyes fixed on the floor. The other man had disappeared from his aisle, likely retreating to the back of the store.

  "I am in a hurry," Alice stated, turning back to the counter. "Please continue," she instructed the cashier, who hesitantly resumed scanning.

  A hand grabbed Alice's shoulder, spinning her back around. "I don't think you understand how this works," the man said, smile gone. "You don't just walk into our town and ignore Vernon Thompson."

  Alice looked at the hand on her shoulder, then up at Vernon's face. Her expression remained perfectly neutral as she replied, "Remove your hand."

  One of the larger men chuckled. "Oh, she's got spirit, Vernon. I like this one."

  Vernon didn't remove his hand. Instead, he tightened his grip, leaning closer. "Here's how this goes, blondie. You pay the tax—let's say half of whatever you're carrying—and maybe we escort you safely out of town. Otherwise..."

  "Otherwise?" Alice prompted when he trailed off, her head tilting slightly in that birdlike manner.

  "Otherwise, we might have to get creative with the payment options," Vernon finished, his implication clear in the way his eyes traveled over her body.

  Alice's expression didn't change, but something shifted in her eyes—a darkness swirling in their depths, like ink dropped in clear water.

  "I see," she said. Then, to the cashier: "Please step into the back room."

  The elderly woman blinked in confusion, looking between Alice and the men. Vernon laughed.

  "Giving orders now? You really don't—"

  "It wasn't an order for you," Alice interrupted, her gaze still fixed on the cashier. "It was a courtesy to her. Please," she repeated to the woman, "step into the back room."

  Something in Alice's tone—a certainty beyond confidence, unblinking eyes—made the cashier nod shakily and retreat through a door marked "Employees Only."

  The moment the door closed, Alice moved. Her hand closed around Vernon's wrist with unnatural speed, fingers applying precise pressure to nerve clusters. A soft crack preceded his howl of pain as bones separated at the joint.

  The two larger men reached for concealed weapons, but Alice was already in motion. She twisted, still holding Vernon's broken wrist, and used him as a shield while her free hand extended toward one of his companions. Her fingers elongated, transforming into shadow-tendrils that pierced the man's shoulder and throat simultaneously, emerging as solid-seeming daggers rather than Veldt's previous amorphous appendages.

  The third man managed to draw his pistol, firing twice in rapid succession. But Alice was no longer where she had been. She flowed around Vernon's collapsing form like liquid shadow, reforming directly in front of the shooter. Her right hand transformed again, not into a tendril but into what appeared to be a perfectly formed obsidian blade extending from her wrist.

  The blade entered beneath the man's sternum, angled upward with surgical precision. His eyes widened in shock, the gun falling from nerveless fingers as Alice leaned close to his ear.

  "You chose poorly," she whispered, then withdrew the blade.

  The entire encounter had lasted less than six seconds. All three men lay on the floor—two dead, Vernon still conscious but whimpering in shock and pain as he cradled his shattered wrist.

  Alice knelt beside him, her blade-hand resuming normal appearance as she grasped his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze.

  "What is your connection to Kennedy?" she asked, her voice carrying that strange echo once more.

  Vernon's eyes widened at the name. "I don't—I don't know what you're—"

  The fingers holding his chin lengthened slightly, sharp tips pressing against his throat. "Do not lie to me. The insignia on your ring. The specific phrasing of your threats. You are a proxy. Who do you report to?"

  "Middleton," Vernon gasped. "Rak Middleton. He's Kennedy's regional lieutenant. Please, I'm just—I just collect information, run the local operations. I'm nobody important."

  "Correct," Alice agreed. "You are nobody important." Her fingers tightened fractionally. "What information have you been instructed to watch for?"

  "Travelers," Vernon choked out. "Anyone unusual. Especially—especially a man in his twenties with two companions. Two small blonde women, one with black and white eyes. Kennedy's offering major rewards."

  Alice released his chin, satisfaction evident in her posture if not her expression. "Where is Middleton located?"

  "Buffalo," Vernon answered immediately. "He runs operations from an office building downtown. Old First National Bank building. Please, I've told you everything—"

  "Yes," Alice confirmed, rising to her feet. "You have."

  She turned away from him, returning to the counter where her items waited. Vernon collapsed in relief, believing himself spared. Alice methodically placed each item into the backpack she had selected, paid the exact amount due by leaving bills on the counter, and walked toward the exit.

  Only as she reached the door did she turn, regarding Vernon with that same emotionless assessment.

  "If you attempt to contact Middleton about this encounter," she said calmly, "I will know. And I will return." She tilted her head, adding as if in afterthought: "My associate values mercy. I do not share this value as much."

  The bell above the door chimed pleasantly as Alice departed, leaving behind a scene that would baffle local authorities for months to come.

  Outside, the night air was cool against her skin—a sensation she now perceived differently than when she had been merely Veldt. The street was empty as she turned the corner, heading back toward the forest where Tris waited—

  A figure stepped from the shadows directly into her path.

  Alice froze, every sense instantly alert.

  He stood casually, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cigarette that glowed softly in the darkness. Despite his relaxed posture, Alice recognized him immediately from the hillside confrontation—the swordsman whose weapon had somehow affected her even in shadow form.

  "Found you," the man said simply, his deep voice carrying a calm confidence that bordered on amusement. He took a long drag from his cigarette, then exhaled a perfect ring of smoke. "Figured you'd need supplies after all that running."

  Alice shifted the backpack to one shoulder, freeing her right hand which she kept deliberately loose at her side. "Identify yourself," she demanded.

  The man chuckled, a sound like distant thunder. "Straight to business. I respect that." He took another drag before answering. "Name's Vander Ocean. And you're..." he studied her face with uncomfortable intensity, "not the little twin flame, despite appearances. You're the shadow. Though 'shadow' doesn't quite cover it anymore, does it?"

  "Alice," she replied, surprising herself with the voluntary disclosure.

  "Alice," Vander repeated, nodding as if approving of her choice. "Suits you better than 'Veldt.' More personhood in it."

  Alice remained perfectly still, assessing. The man—Vander—represented an unknown quantity. His presence at the hillside battle, his uncanny ability to track them, the strange sword that had affected her immaterial form—all suggested danger. Yet he made no hostile move, merely blocking her path with that same relaxed confidence.

  "Step aside," she said finally. "I must return to Tris."

  "About that," Vander replied, flicking ash from his cigarette. "The boy's in rough shape. Lost his twin flame, his Anchor, probably feeling like the world just ended. Been there myself, more or less." His down-turned dark green eyes, sharp despite their warmth, fixed on hers. "You planning to tell him what you just did in that store?"

  The question caught Alice off-guard. "I eliminated threats," she stated, as if this explained everything.

  Vander nodded slowly. "Efficiently too. But here's the thing about Tris—Solaris, whatever you want to call him—he's got a certain... moral compass. Might not appreciate your methods."

  "I protect him," Alice said, an edge entering her voice. "By any means necessary."

  "No doubt about that," Vander agreed easily. "Question is, are you protecting him for him, or for you?" When Alice didn't immediately respond, he continued: "Because there's a difference between serving someone and controlling them. Thin line sometimes."

  "You know nothing about our bond," Alice countered, a hint of emotion finally coloring her words.

  "I know enough," Vander said, finishing his cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot. "Seen it before. Shadow guardians turning possessive, especially after trauma. Happened with Maron and Lesley in previous cycles. Whole mess that was." He sighed, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. "Look, I'm not here to lecture you or stop you. Just offering some perspective."

  "Why are you here?" Alice demanded.

  Vander smiled, the expression transforming his weathered face into something almost boyish. "To help, of course. The 777 Convergence is finally happening. Twenty-two million years in the making. You think I'd miss that?"

  Alice's eyes narrowed. "You're not a Sovereign. Your energy signature is...different."

  "Observant," Vander acknowledged with an appreciative nod. "No, I'm not a Sovereign. More of an...interested party. Been around a while, seen a few things. Got a stake in how this all plays out."

  "Kennedy's people are hunting us," Alice said, testing his reaction.

  "Kennedy," Vander snorted dismissively. "Small fish pretending to be a shark. It's Ereshkigal you should worry about. She's the one pulling strings behind the scenes."

  The name triggered something in Alice's memory—fragments of information from both Tris and Eli's conversations. "The Anunnaki Council member."

  "Former Council member," Vander corrected. "She's gone rogue. Playing her own game now. And she wants Tris badly." He stepped closer, his expression growing serious. "She'll send worse than Kennedy after you. Much worse."

  Alice processed this information, weighing it against what she already knew. "Why should I trust you?"

  Vander laughed, the sound genuinely amused. "You shouldn't. Not completely. Trust is earned." He gestured toward the forest. "But right now, Tris needs allies. The twin flame is gone, at least temporarily. His 'guardian angel' just transformed into something more complex. And Ereshkigal's forces are closing in." He spread his hands. "I'm offering my help. Take it or leave it."

  Alice studied him for several more seconds before making her decision. "You may accompany me to Tris. He will decide whether to accept your assistance."

  "Fair enough," Vander agreed easily.

  As they walked toward the forest, Alice maintaining a careful distance between them, Vander asked casually, "So, no last name?" he prompted, an amused glint in his eye. "Might need one for the human world."

  Alice considered this as they walked, the question unexpectedly complex. A last name would further solidify her identity, her separation from her origins as Veldt. Yet it would also connect her more firmly to Tris.

  "Morgan," she decided finally. "Alice Morgan."

  Vander nodded approvingly. "Good choice. Has a nice ring to it."

  As they reached the forest's edge, Alice felt a strange anticipation building within her—how would Tris react to her transformed state now that he was fully conscious? Would he accept her new form, her evolved consciousness? Would he approve of her methods, her decisions?

  Most importantly, would he accept her as Alice, or would he forever see her as simply Veldt wearing Eli's face?

  These questions, so human in their uncertainty, troubled her in ways she had never experienced as a mere shadow guardian. Evolution, it seemed, brought not only power and autonomy but also complexity—and the peculiar discomfort of doubt.

  Behind her, Vander walked with the confidence of someone who already knew how the story would unfold, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched Alice navigate her new existence.