The photo was creased at the edges. Faded. But it didn't matter how much time had passed—his eyes were still the same.
Wide. Knowing. Resigned.
I stared at it too long. Let it burn itself into my memory. That look wasn't fear. It wasn't defiance either. It was... acceptance. Like he knew this would happen. Like he was waiting.
"So," I said quietly, not looking up. "You want me to hunt Mark."
Connor blinked. He tilted his head, brows furrowing in genuine confusion.
"Mark?"
Silence.
Then realization dawned. And it made something cold coil inside me.
"Ah. Right," he murmured. "Subject 3834. He was issued that name when he led the Mars initiative. About a year and a half ago."
My teeth ground together. He hadn't just rejected the name—I remembered the fury when I used it. The sharp recoil in his voice. "That is not my name." Like the syllables were acid. But it was all I ever knew him as.
No. That wasn't true.
