The city held its breath.
Elara felt it the moment they walked out of the sub-station—the air too still, the lights too obedient. The world had paused just long enough to listen to her.
But it didn't last.
By midday, reports had become frantic. The Observation Bureau's headquarters was overflowing with cases:people remembering events that never happened, others forgetting entire days, some waking with injuries they hadn't suffered.
Calen skimmed the files with growing frustration."Elara, look at this—three witnesses swear they saw you at the river this morning. Talking to a child."
"I wasn't there."
He hesitated. "I know. But they describe what you were wearing."He looked at her jacket.The exact same one.
Before she could reply, her phone chimed—a message with no sender.
| You forgot something. | Check your desk drawer.
Elara's pulse slipped.Her desk drawer?In the lab?
She turned and walked toward the back hallway, ignoring Calen's protests.The corridor buzzed—lights flickering twice, shadows lagging behind her.
The lab door opened on its own.
Her drawer was already ajar.
Inside lay a photograph.
Her breath caught.
It was her and her mother.Sitting on the riverbank.Laughing.
Except—the picture couldn't exist.She had never been there as an adult.Her mother died before the river reconstruction.
"Elara?" Calen stood in the doorway.
She held up the photo."This isn't real."
He frowned. "Then how do you explain it?"
"I don't. But I know it didn't happen."
"Maybe you're misremembering."
She stared at him—longer than she should have.Was he serious?
"My mother didn't live this long, Calen."
He stepped closer. "In this reality, maybe she did."
Her stomach dropped.
This was the personal touch the city had been waiting to strike.Not the grid. Not the streetlights.Her memory.
A low hum echoed from the mirror behind the desk.Her reflection blinked late… then reached into its own pocket.
It pulled out the same photograph.
Elara froze.Calen didn't see it—he was still staring at her.
Her reflection mouthed a single word:
"Choose."
Elara stepped backward. "Calen… I think the drift is affecting me."
He exhaled sharply. "Elara, it didn't affect you. It started with you."
She backed into the desk."Because I merged the worlds?"
"No."He held her gaze."Because one of you was never supposed to survive."
Something inside her cracked.
"I'm the original," she whispered.
Calen didn't answer.
In the mirror, her reflection smiled—soft, patient, knowing.
Not cruel.
True.
The photo in the drawer flickered—once, then again—and changed.
The river behind them dissolved into static.Her mother's face blurred.Then sharpened—
into another version of Elara.
Her knees weakened.
Calen stepped forward to steady her, but she pulled away.
"No," she said. "Don't touch me."
"Elara—"
"Calen, what if she's right?"Her voice trembled."What if I'm not… me?"
The lights flickered.The room breathed.Once with her.Once after.
A whisper crawled through the static of every screen:
| "Anchor drift detected." | "Identify the surviving self."
Elara closed her eyes.
For the first time since the blackout,she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.