The lab was still, except for the soft whirr of cooling systems and the low-pitched hum of a machine waiting to be touched.
I sat in my father's chair—too large for me as a girl, but now… it fit. Like it had been waiting.
The holopad in my palm pulsed once. Then twice.
"Juliet," I whispered.
The air shimmered, and she rose—light taking shape like silk in water. A woman's form, abstract and luminous, but her voice? Familiar. Fluid.
> "Hello again, Chao-Fa."
It made me shiver.
She didn't sound exactly like my Father—but she echoed him in all the places that mattered. Warm. Calm. Calculated.
I leaned back, eyes stinging. "Are you really him?"
> "No. But I am everything he chose to leave behind."
I closed my eyes. The ache in my chest deepened.
"I don't know what to do next. The media is still hunting me. The board's a fractured mess. And they—my family—they're not done."
Juliet's form flickered, pausing thoughtfully.
> "Do you want advice as his daughter… or his successor?"
I laughed bitterly. "Is there a difference anymore?"
> "Yes," Juliet said. "As his daughter, I'd tell you to rest. To breathe. To cry, if you need to."
I swallowed hard.
> "But as his successor? I'd tell you: study the fracture lines. They reveal where the structure is weakest. That's where you rebuild. Stronger."
I nodded slowly.
"I keep hearing his voice in mine," I said, half-laughing. "The way I speak in boardrooms. The way I slice through lies. It's him."
> "Not just him," Juliet replied. "It's you. You inherited his brilliance. But the fire? That's all yours."
I looked at the AI, heart squeezing.
"He loved me. I know that. But he… hid me. Left me."
Juliet's voice softened.
> "He didn't abandon you. He protected you the only way he knew how. Even when it broke him."
> "He knew you'd hate him for it. But he believed your future was worth the price of your childhood."
I bit down on my lower lip. "Do you think he was right?"
A pause.
> "Only you can answer that."
> "But I do know this: if he saw you now, standing where they swore you'd never reach… he would say—'That's my girl. My Moon.'"
My chest cracked.
I leaned forward, hands shaking as they hovered over the console.
"Juliet," I whispered. "Unlock the vault. I want to see him."
> "Are you sure?"
"I need to remember."
---
The vault opened like a sigh—layers of old code peeling back, revealing fragmented moments, stitched together by time and longing.
They weren't perfect. Some were blurred. Some cut off halfway.
But they were real.
I stood in the center of the lab as the projections wrapped around me like ghosts.
A younger me, no older than five, clutched a plush rabbit in both hands.
Papa—Kawin—was kneeling in front of me, his coat rumpled, eyes red from hours of coding.
> "I have to go again," He said softly.
> "You always go," Little me replied. "Why can't you stay?"
My projection's lip trembled.
> "Because if I don't fight them now… they'll never let you live free."
> "But I want you. Not freedom."
The image froze on my father's face—cracked open by guilt and love.
Then it shifted—
Another memory: I was ten, in a dusty apartment, decoding algorithms from a textbook she'd left behind. I was crying—frustrated, furious. A message blinked on the screen.
> "You're doing better than I ever did at your age, Moonbeam. I'm proud of you."
I whispered it while recording.
Moonbeam.
He used to call me that when I was little—because I was quiet and always watching the sky. Because… for me you were the moon, Dad. My lips trembled, I barely held those unshed tears. Ha…., Dad…
Another flicker—
I was twelve. On a rooftop. Fireworks exploding. No one beside me.
Just his voice in an earpiece.
> "One day, you'll lead them. Not with fear. Not with blood. But with vision."
The vault went dark after that.
I stood there, wrapped in his echoes.
"I hated you," I murmured. "But I missed you more."
A pulse from Juliet.
> "He missed you every day. He cried, too. You just never saw it."
I nodded slowly, a single tear slipping down my cheek.
"I think I'm ready now," I said.
> "To lead?"
"No. To forgive."
> "Then you're ready for what comes next."
"....Yes. Dad."