prodigy. A memo had circulated, announcing my "promotion" to a junior analyst position within the Olympus Proje

on the 50th floor. People who had ignored me a week ago now gave me cur

ry and performance reports, but anything crucial was still locked away. Thorn

from a junior analyst, and feeling the constant, unnerving weight of his scrutiny. He would sometim

n," she said one evening, as we sat in my new, sterile apartment. She had brought over a housewarm

a lifeline to a normal life I couldn't afford to have. "I'm sorry, C

e?" She told me a little about the real Mia's background. An orphan from the foster system, a scholarshi

y stone in my gut. I was a ghost inhabiting a life that wasn't mine, and

ce frequently, under the guise of reviewing my reports. These meetings were a tense game of chess. He would

back in his chair. "Your analysis of the coolant system's pressure fluctuations was... elega

" I said, keeping my

Top of her class at a state university. Impressive, but it doesn't explain this." He turned back, his e

ded to deflect, to manage his suspicion without giving him a reaso

tling touch. "Keep up the good work, Mia," he said, his voice a low murmu

felt like a warning and an invitation all at once. Was he

. I did understand it. The Olympus Station wasn't just metal and wires to me. It was alive. I ha

I needed more. I needed to get into the core databanks, access the live command and control systems. To

ive it to me. I had to make myself indispensable. I had to prove that my "intuition" was s

loe. I almost ignored it, but the guilt from our last conversation gnawed

desk." There was a pause. "It's a birthday card. For her brother. It's dated for next week." My blood ran c

's neat handwriting, were the words, "Happy Birthday, big bro. Hope you're

or my own brother, while the brother of the girl whose life I was living was out there somewhere, wondering why his