Handler Embedded

The shrine was dead.

Whatever it had once been—holy ground, a place of secrets, a sanctuary—was long gone. What remained was a skeleton of its former self, charred beams and collapsed walls half-buried in damp earth. The air was thick with the scent of moss, rotting wood, and something older beneath it. Something Jessica couldn’t name.

She stepped carefully over the broken floorboards, the wood groaning under her weight. Her breath curled in the cold morning air as she scanned the ruins. The weight in her chest, the dull pressure at the back of her skull, had only grown since they arrived. She had never been here before. And yet, something in her bones told her she had.

Leanna’s voice cut through the quiet. “It burned.”

Jessica turned. Leanna stood near what was left of an altar, one gloved hand brushing over the blackened stone. The edges of it were scorched, the wood above it charred and collapsed inward.

Jessica moved closer. The markings were still there—half-hidden beneath layers of soot and decay. Symbols carved deep into the stone, their meaning lost to time.

But Jessica understood them. Not consciously. Not in words. But in the way her stomach twisted, in the way her throat tightened.

She had seen them before.

Olivia crouched near a collapsed beam, carefully shifting debris with gloved hands. “Some of this is recent,” she murmured. “Whoever took the second mask was here not long ago.”

Jessica swallowed the question sitting on her tongue. Was she?

---

They found it beneath the floorboards, tucked into the hollow space between the beams.

A small, leather-bound notebook, the edges warped with age, the cover stained from time and damp. Olivia turned it over in her hands before carefully opening it.

Two different handwritings filled the pages. One in precise, almost mechanical Japanese. The other in English—looser, uneven, as if the writer had hesitated with every stroke.

Jessica frowned. “What does it say?”

Olivia scanned the text, flipping through the brittle pages. Her brow furrowed. “The Japanese sections mention something called ‘the experiment.’ There’s a reference to Project Lazarus. Or something like it.”

Jessica’s stomach turned. Lazarus. The name still landed like a wound. It was the project that created her. Gave her new bones, new blood, a face she still didn’t recognize. But this… this meant Lazarus was older than she’d ever been told. Older than her.

Olivia continued, her voice tightening. “The English sections are different. Whoever wrote them—” She hesitated, her fingers gripping the paper. “They talk about waking up in the wrong body. About memories that don’t belong to them.”

Jessica’s pulse slammed against her ribs. “What?”

Olivia met her gaze. “It sounds like… someone else went through what you did.”

Jessica reached for the notebook, flipping to the English section. The handwriting was erratic, desperate. Words scratched into the page as if the writer had been trying to hold onto reality.

“I woke up in a body that wasn’t mine. The memories come and go. Some days I am myself. Some days I am her.”

“I think they made me this way.”

Jessica gripped the notebook tighter. The handwriting—it was familiar. It wasn’t hers. But it felt like it could be.

A dull pressure bloomed behind her eyes. The symbols on the altar, the fog in the mountains, the mask—it was all connected.

She forced herself to breathe. Not now. Not here.

Leanna’s voice was quiet but sharp. “What the hell did Vanguard do to you?”

Jessica didn’t answer.

---

The day passed in uneasy silence, Olivia working through the notebook, Jessica and Leanna searching the ruins for more. Yuki had taken to the outer perimeter, scouting the area—whether to watch for threats or to keep herself separate from the group, Jessica didn’t know.

The sun had barely set when the knock came. Soft. Measured. Three taps. A pause. Then one more.

Every nerve in Jessica’s body locked into place. She exchanged a glance with Leanna and Olivia. Without a word, Leanna moved toward the door, pressing against the frame, her hand drifting to the holster inside her jacket.

Jessica exhaled slowly, then opened it.

A man stood on the other side. He was dressed in a dark suit, his tie neat, his shoes unscuffed. Not police. Not Vanguard. Something else. His face was smooth, unreadable, his features sharp but entirely forgettable.

He studied Jessica for a moment, then glanced past her toward the ruins.

“You should leave this place alone,” he said. His voice was polite. Flat. Completely empty of emotion.

Jessica didn’t move. “Who are you?”

The man’s expression didn’t change. “Someone who understands what you’re looking for.” He tilted his head slightly. “And what it will cost you.”

Jessica’s grip on the door tightened. “What do you know about the masks?”

The man smiled—just a small curve of his lips. “Enough to tell you that if you keep going, you won’t like what you find.”

Jessica’s pulse ticked faster. “Was I here before?”

The man didn’t answer. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small envelope, setting it carefully on the ground at her feet. Then he stepped back.

“Consider that my only courtesy.” He inclined his head slightly. “Good night, Miss Sanchez.”

Jessica’s breath caught. He knew her name.

She moved—too fast, too instinctive—but by the time she stepped outside, the man was gone.

Leanna was already moving toward the door. “What the hell was that?”

Jessica stood in the doorway long after the man had vanished into the fog. The envelope felt heavier than it should have—thick paper, expensive stock, sealed with a press, not glue.

She closed the door, locking it behind her, and walked back to the table without a word. Leanna and Olivia watched, but they didn’t speak. Not yet.

Jessica peeled the envelope open.

Inside was a single photograph. It was old—faded at the edges, slightly curled. It showed three figures in black robes, standing in front of the shrine. Their faces were obscured by masks.

Jessica felt something clench inside her ribs. Because one of the masked figures stood slightly apart from the others. Taller. Holding a mask like a relic or a weapon. The body posture felt… familiar. Not remembered, but mirrored. Like Jessica was looking at herself from the outside.

Her fingers tightened around the photograph. The pressure in her skull throbbed. Then she noticed the second item. Tucked behind the photo, folded into thirds.

A memo. Old. Slightly yellowed. The Vanguard insignia in the corner had been blacked out with ink, but it bled through faintly.

She unfolded it.

FIELD REPORT – OBSERVATION SUBJECT: S-03
Handler: Kessler, Ryan (Clearance Code: Echo/3)
Date Logged: REDACTED

"Subject demonstrates increased emotional stabilization in domestic pairing. Continued integration recommended for behavioral cohesion. No signs of reversion or pattern bleed through as of latest monitoring cycle.
Recommend continuation of relationship for data consistency. Handler embedded full time."

Jessica stopped reading.

Her fingers trembled, just slightly as she read the lines again. Handler embedded full time.

Ryan.

Handler.

Her breath hitched in her throat, but she didn’t make a sound.

She folded the paper. Once. Twice. Slid it back into the envelope with the photo. Her face was blank, but her eyes were distant like the air had thinned and she was remembering how to breathe in it.

Leanna shifted. “Jess?”

Jessica didn’t look at her.

Instead, she stood, quietly, and walked to her room. She didn’t slam the door. Didn’t mutter a word. But the silence she left behind was full of ghosts.

She didn’t sleep that night. She lay in silence, remembering a life that had never belonged to her.