My Lovely Headmaster

Chapter 59

The call comes at 3 AM, two days after the committee's departure. Leo answers because Leo never really sleeps—he prowls Blackwood at night like a guardian, checking locks and reviewing security footage.

"We have a problem," he announces, entering our room without knocking as always. "Dr. Sarah Winters is alive."

I sit up, instinctively checking on Hope in her bassinet. "That's impossible. She jumped through a window—"

"She survived. And she's taken something." Leo's face is grimmer than I've ever seen it. "The genetic mapping of all the modified children. Including Devon and Clara."

Vlad's already reaching for clothes. "How?"

"She had help. Someone inside Blackwood." Leo pauses, and I know whatever comes next will hurt. "It was Genesis."

The world tilts. "No. Genesis would never—"

"The security footage is clear. She accessed the medical files last night, downloaded everything onto a drive, and met Winters at the gates." Leo shows us the footage on his tablet. There's Genesis, my best friend since childhood, handing over our children's genetic secrets to our enemy.

"Why?" My voice cracks. "She helped save me. She's been here through everything."

"Money," Julia says from the doorway, because apparently no one sleeps when crisis hits. "The Ashford family contacted her. Twenty million to deliver the genetic profiles."

"The Ashfords lost everything when the Architects fell," Vlad realizes. "They're trying to rebuild."

"Using our children as blueprints," I finish, horror dawning. "They want to reverse-engineer the modifications, start again."

Devon appears, Clare in his arms, both children drawn by the distress they sense. "Aunt Genesis is gone," he says simply. "I can't feel her anymore. She's behind something that blocks us."

"A new kind of shielding," Leo confirms. "The surviving Architects have been developing it. They're learning from their mistakes."

I want to scream, to rage, to deny that Genesis—who held my hand through labor with Devon, who saved me from depression, who's been my sister in everything but blood—could betray us like this.

"We have to find her," I say.

"We have to find them all," Vlad corrects. "Winters, the Ashfords, anyone else trying to resurrect the program."

Adrian arrives within the hour, bringing devastating news. "Three other facilities have reported break-ins. Medical files stolen from rehabilitation centers in Boston, Chicago, and Seattle. They're gathering data on all the modified children."

"For what purpose?" Susan asks, holding a crying Clara. Even the babies sense the wrongness.

"To create a new generation," Chase says, entering with Sophia Ashford—his girlfriend, daughter of Architects, but one who chose our side. "My father contacted me. The remaining Architect families are pooling resources. They're calling it Project Renaissance."

"They want to start over," Sophia adds, her voice shaking. "But 'better' this time. More subtle modifications, deeper control. And they need the genetic profiles of successful subjects to do it."

"Successful?" I spit the word. "Our children aren't successes. They're survivors of torture."

"To them, it's the same thing," Sophia says sadly.

Hope starts crying—not her normal hungry or tired cry, but something sharper. Devon translates: "She says the network is poisoned. Someone's using the connection between the modified children to map our locations."

"Genesis," I realize. "She knew about the connection. She helped document it."

"She played us for months," Leo says, and there's something like admiration mixed with his anger. "Pretending to support the rehabilitation while gathering intelligence."

"We have to warn everyone," Vlad decides. "Every modified child, every rehabilitation center. They're all in danger."

"It's worse than that," Richard says, appearing in the doorway. "I just got word from the hospital. Emily Jason is dead."

My stepmother. The woman who tried to force me into marriage, who bit my nose, who made my life hell—dead.

"How?" I ask, though I'm not sure I care.

"Poison. Delivered in a gift basket supposedly from you." Richard's expression is grave. "Jasmine, they're framing you. Making it look like you're eliminating threats."

"The committee," Vlad realizes. "If they think Jasmine is killing people—"

"They'll discredit everything she testified to," Leo finishes. "Brilliant, really. Evil, but brilliant."

"We need to move," Julia says. "Get the children somewhere safe before—"

The lights cut out.

In the darkness, we hear them—footsteps in the halls, professional and numerous. Not the chaotic raid of before, but something coordinated, military.

"They're here," Devon whispers. "Lots of them. And they have something that hurts to think near."

"The shielding technology," Leo realizes. "They're using it offensively."

Hope screams—a sound no three-day-old should be able to make. Every piece of glass in the room cracks.

"Get the children to the tunnels," Vlad orders.

But when we reach the hidden entrance, Genesis is there, no longer the friend I trusted but someone else—harder, colder, holding a weapon I don't recognize.

"Hello, Jasmine," she says. "I'm sorry it had to be this way. But twenty million buys a lot of silence about the past."

"What past?"

"Did you never wonder why I was always there? Why I showed up right when you needed me?" Her smile is sad but determined. "I'm modified too, Jasmine. Have been since I was twelve. Programmed to be your perfect friend, your support system. To keep you stable and contained."

The betrayal hits harder than any physical blow. Every moment of our friendship—fabricated? Every comfort she offered—programming?

"But the Architects fell," I protest. "The frequency freed everyone."

"It freed the children," Genesis corrects. "Adults are harder to break. And some of us... some of us don't want to be free. Do you know what it's like, suddenly having real emotions after fifteen years of programmed responses? It's agony. I want to go back to the simplicity of being controlled."

"So you're helping them restart the program?"

"I'm helping them make it better. More humane. Less traumatic." She raises the weapon. "Starting with gathering the children who represent the best outcomes."

"You'll have to go through us," Vlad says, stepping forward.

"No," Genesis says sadly. "I really won't."

She fires, but not at us—at the ceiling. The ancient stones, weakened by centuries and recent battles, begin to fall.