They reached the river just after noon— the exact place three witnesses swore they'd seen Elara earlier that morning, the place she insisted she had never been.
The Observation Bureau had taped off the lower steps, but the tape fluttered weakly, like a line drawn by people who still believed the world followed rules. Two currents ran alongside one another in the river—one pushing, one retreating—refusing to agree.
Calen walked ahead, file in hand, shoulders rigid."We check it ourselves," he'd said as they left the lab."If someone saw 'you' here, we need to know what they actually saw."
Elara didn't argue.She couldn't.The photograph-that-should-not-exist still pressed against her thoughts.
By the time they descended the final stone steps, the air shimmered twice—once for each reality trying to settle into one version of now. Elara felt a tug, a hiccup in the air, the same sensation she had felt outside her lab mirror.
Calen stopped abruptly.
"Elara…" he whispered, "look."
A small girl sat on the lowest step.Bare knees hugged to her chest.Hair wild from wind.Shoes damp with river spray.
The exact spot where the witnesses said Elara had stood.The precise posture two people claimed to have seen.
Elara's breath faltered.
Something about the child felt familiar—not like a memory,but like the aftertaste of a dream she had once woken from too early.
The girl lifted her head slowly.
"Elara," she said.
Calen stiffened."She knows your name."
The child's gaze was steady and frighteningly ancient for her small face.She rose to her feet, her shadow flickering half a beat behind her.
Elara stepped forward carefully."Hi," she said gently. "Do you need help?"
"You came back," the girl whispered.
Elara stopped. "What do you mean?"
The girl pointed toward the river.Or perhaps toward the seam where the two currents collided and refused resolution.
"She told me to find the witness."
"Who told you?" Calen asked sharply.
The child considered the question like it was a puzzle she had heard before.She touched two fingers to a faint seam-like scar above her heart.
"The one who remembers both nights."
Elara flinched.The phrase echoed like a ghost from another room—a voice from mirror-static, from her mother's fragmented recordings.
A memory flickered across her mind, half-formed, then shuttered:a mirror covered by a blanket,a child stepping out of it with weary eyes,a softly spoken I'm tired. You keep waking me.
But the memory slid away,filtered by the city's Forgetting Phasejust enough to feel unreal.
"Sweetheart," Elara said, steadying her voice, "where are your parents?"
The girl blinked, confused.Then her expression softened into sorrow.
"I had some," she said."Before the seam moved."
Calen swore under his breath."That word again. Seam. She's using drift terminology."
The child looked at him with a faint curiosity."You're loud in this world," she said. "But she—"She pointed at Elara."She's louder."
A chill crossed Elara's spine.
The girl stepped closer, reaching toward Elara with trembling fingers.
"You still wear it," she said softly.
Elara froze.The child was touching her necklace—the little silver disk her mother had given her when she was seven.
No one knew the story of that necklace.No one.
Calen's eyes widened."Elara… you have to explain that."
She couldn't.
The child leaned closer, studying Elara's face as though memorizing it line by line.
"I used to be you," she whispered.
Elara's breath broke."What?"
Calen stumbled backward."Elara—what did she just say?"
But the girl was already shaking her head."No. Not exactly."She touched her seam-scar again."I'm the part that fell out. When you mixed the worlds."
Elara felt her knees weaken.
The child's voice trembled."When the worlds folded, one of me didn't know which way to go. So I followed the place that remembered me."
"The place?" Calen echoed.
The girl pointed at Elara's chest.
"You."
His voice cracked."Elara… if she's you—then which one of you is the real one?"
Elara didn't answer.Couldn't.
The girl stepped close enough for her breath to brush Elara's hand.
"I'm scared," she whispered."I don't know where I'm supposed to live."
Elara knelt, pulling the child into her arms with instinct she didn't fully understand.The girl sank against her shoulder, crying silently, her small body shivering with the effort of existing.
Calen looked away as if witnessing something he shouldn't.
The river reversed direction.The sky flickered.Two shadows merged into one—then split again.
Elara stroked the girl's hair.
"It's okay," she murmured. "I've got you."
The child wiped her eyes."Teach me," she whispered."Teach me how to remember."
Elara cradled her cheek."We will," she promised."We'll learn together."
Calen drew a shaky breath."We can't tell the Bureau. They'll dissect her—mentally, physically, any way they can."
Elara nodded.
As they walked back toward the car, the child's small hand in hers, Calen kept glancing at their shadows.The shadows didn't agree.His walked forward.Elara's hesitated.The child's followed neither.
"Elara," he said quietly, "you realize what this means, don't you?"
She didn't answer.
Because she did.
When they reached the lab, Elara laid the child's hand beside the silver disk on her table.A soft hum vibrated through the room—
Once with them.Once after.
A delayed heartbeat.A second reality breathing.
And Elara understood:
This was only the beginning.