She wasn’t supposed to be alive.

She had drowned.

At least, that’s what the official report had said.

A child lost at sea. No body recovered. No evidence left behind. Just a name on a list of casualties, another tragedy swallowed by the waves.

But she hadn’t drowned.

She had been taken.

No one searches for a dead girl.

That was why they did it.

She doesn’t remember much from the early days—just flashes of light through grimy windows, just voices speaking in languages she didn’t know. Cold hands pressing against her skin, testing, analyzing, deciding.

She was no one.

And that meant she could become anything.

They tore apart her body first.

Not with knives, not with brutality, but with precision—careful injections, changes that weren’t meant to leave scars but to reshape. They wanted something stronger. Something faster. Something that didn’t need rules to obey.

Then they broke her mind.

Not all at once.

Just piece by piece.

Until there was nothing left of the girl who had once existed—not her name, not her memories, not her family.

Just instinct.

Just obedience.

Just the perfect weapon.

She doesn’t remember how many years passed.

It hadn’t mattered. Time had been irrelevant when she was nothing more than a tool. Days blended into missions, identities changed as often as the weather. She spoke languages fluently that she hadn’t even known existed, handled weapons before she had ever touched a childhood toy.

Failure wasn’t an option.

Failure meant disposal.

And she hadn’t survived this long just to be thrown away.

Then something changed.

A mission gone wrong. A target that wasn’t supposed to fight back. A moment of hesitation that should have been impossible.

And suddenly—she was falling.

Through shattered glass. Through the open night air. Through the cold reality that she was about to drown for the second time in her life.

She had thought it was the end.

But the ocean wasn’t done with her yet.

And neither was the world.

TF141 didn’t realize what they had found.

They had been tracking an arms trade—something routine, something predictable.

But when they raided the compound, when the dust settled and the bodies lay cooling on the ground, they found her instead.

She hadn’t run.

She hadn’t fought.

She had just stood there, watching, waiting, expression blank, as if she wasn’t sure whether to attack or follow orders.

Like something waiting to be activated.

Price had known immediately.

"She’s not a prisoner," he had muttered under his breath.

"She’s an asset."

And the worst part?

She didn’t know whether he was wrong.

She had no name.

No past.

Nothing that could tell them who she had been before she became this.

TF141 wasn’t the first to try and pull her back into the world.

They might not be the last.

But if they thought for even a second that they could save her—

They were already too late.