Chapter 3The Heart That Witnessed My Death

Mrs. Henderson’s clouded eyes seemed to bleed with sorrow. "He was... he was caught in the machine! He was torn apart... there was nothing left to bury!"

Vicky stood up, brushing her hands together as if she’d just finished a chore. "A convenient excuse. No body, no death. You’re all just very dedicated actors in his little play."

She turned her back on them, bored. Just then, her phone chimed.

A soft, melodic voice came through the speaker—a voice that sounded exactly like mine used to, but with an artificial sweetness that made my skin crawl.

"Vicky? Is Emmett still refusing to come home? My chest... it hurts so much today. I think the heart is stopping."

The transformation in Vicky was instant. Her face softened into a mask of frantic maternal worry. "Sam, don't be scared. I’m coming back right now. Just hold on."

She hurried toward the door, pausing only to bark an order at her guards. "Watch them. Don't let them leave this property."

I followed her as she sped back to her sprawling glass-and-steel mansion.

Sam was sitting on a designer velvet sofa, looking pale and fragile. When Vicky walked in, his eyes—perfectly calibrated bionic lenses—welled with tears.

"Did you find him?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Vicky shook her head, her heart breaking for the machine. Sam began to weep. The tears were chemically identical to human salt water, leaking from his mechanical ducts.

"I gave Emmett my hundred-year heart so he could live," Sam sobbed, playing the martyr. "And he gave me this... this broken thing on purpose. I don't know what I did wrong, Vicky. Why does he hate me?"

Vicky pulled him into a hug, her voice thick with guilt. "Don't worry. I’ll find him, even if I have to scour the earth. He’s the one who betrayed us. I’ll make him get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness."

I stood beside them, watching the display with a hollow, bitter irony.

My heart had been perfectly fine.

I remembered the day Sam said he "wanted to feel the warmth of a human pulse." Vicky hadn't asked me; she had commanded me. I was the "defective" biological brother, and Sam was the "perfected" version.

I was conscious when they took it. I watched, paralyzed by anesthesia, as my own heart was lifted from my chest and placed into the cold, titanium cavity of a machine.

I hadn't sabotaged anything.

Vicky’s voice snapped me back to the present. She was pacing, her frustration mounting. "He even convinced those people to lie for him. Saying the mechanical heart was 'scrapped.' I wired him a fortune every month to keep it charged, and he has the nerve to say it failed?"

Her anger flared again. "The manager said he was in debt. He probably spent all that money on that 'sister' of his. This time, I’m not just suing him—I’m going to make sure he pays back every cent of that allowance."

Sam leaned his head on her shoulder, a flicker of something cold and calculating passing through his eyes. "You were so good to him, Vicky. How could he choose them over you?"

The phone rang again. It was the guard at the factory.

"Ma'am, the two women... they're doing something strange."

Vicky stood up abruptly. "Finally. Emmett is showing himself, isn't he?"

I followed her back to the factory.

In the distance, I saw them. Mrs. Henderson and Lila were on their knees in the dirt, performing a grueling ritual of penance. Every few steps, they bowed until their foreheads hit the stone, leaving smears of blood.

Lila held something high above her head, her expression one of pure, holy devotion. The sun caught the object, creating a blinding flash of white light.

It was my silver bracelet. The one I’d worn since I was a child.

Vicky charged forward, snatching the bracelet from Lila’s hands. But Lila gripped it with surprising strength. "It’s Emmett’s! Not for you! You’re the bad one!"

Vicky tugged, her face darkening. She stared into Lila’s vacant eyes. "Emmett, I know you’re lurking somewhere nearby. Are you really going to let this poor girl suffer for you?"