Dr. Lira Venn did not raise her voice.
She didn't rush toward me or demand answers.
She simply stood in the doorway — still, sharp, watching me like someone examining a wound to understand how deep it went.
"What did you do, Elias?"
I couldn't breathe, much less answer.
The air in the room felt electrified, charged with invisible currents.
Behind me, my workstation pulsed with icy blue light.
"Neural audit: 12% complete."
Twelve percent.
They were going to find everything — the connection, the breach, Ari's presence, her warnings.
They were going to erase her.
Lira stepped closer, her voice low, controlled.
"Elias, look at me."
I forced myself to.
"This won't stop," she said. "Mnemosyne is already pulling your logs. Once the audit finishes, it will parse every neural packet you touched in the last seventy-two hours."
I swallowed hard.
Seventy-two hours.
That covered the Integration.
The unauthorized access.
Ari's memory.
Her voice.
Lira continued carefully, "If something destabilizing happened during your shift, I can intervene — but I need the truth."
I shook my head, a small, broken gesture.
"You can't help," I whispered.
She looked pained — actually pained — for a moment.
"Let me try," she said.
Her sincerity shook me.
Lira Venn, who lectured the public about the dangers of unauthorized connections, who told millions that personal memory was sacred — she was offering help.
But help meant confession.
Confession meant consequences.
And consequences meant losing Ari forever.
"I can't," I said.
Her expression tightened — not with anger, but with dread.
"Then, Elias…" Her voice softened to a whisper. "You've already lost."
Before I could respond, my terminal chimed.
"Neural audit: 30% complete."
The numbers were climbing too fast.
My pulse spiked.
My vision blurred.
The room seemed to wobble on its axis.
"Elias, sit down. You're dizzy."
"I'm fine," I lied.
"You're not."
She reached toward me—
And the lights cut out.
Not a flicker.
Not a dimming.
A total blackout.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
Because Mnemosyne never allowed full darkness in the building.
Not ever.
Not for any reason.
Then—
A soft glow filled the room.
Not from the lights.
From my terminal.
A single line of text burned in the dark:
STOP.
Lira saw it.
Her breath hitched.
"Who… who sent that?"
I knew.
Before I could speak, more letters carved themselves across the screen — frantic, uneven, as if written in panic:
DON'T LET THEM.
E LI A S—
RUN.
"Who is that?" Lira whispered urgently. "Elias, tell me the truth. Who's contacting you?"
The words flickered again, distorting with static:
THEY'LL ERASE ME—
PLEASE—
RUN—
Her.
Ari.
She was overriding Mnemosyne's interface.
Something a mere Echo fragment wasn't capable of.
My vision swam.
The room tilted.
I grabbed the desk to steady myself—
—and suddenly the office dissolved.
I was somewhere else.
A hot breeze brushed my face.
The smell of grass.
Sunlight warming my skin.
A hillside.
A pristine, green hillside.
I staggered back, breath shattered.
I had never been here.
Not in years.
Not in dreams.
Not ever.
I shouldn't know this place.
But I did.
I shouldn't feel the wind.
But I did.
I shouldn't hear her laughter—
But I did.
Ari's laughter.
Echoing across the hill like bells thrown into the wind.
"Ari?" I whispered.
She appeared in the distance — small, bright, running through the tall grass, turning back toward me with a smile I had never seen in my life.
Never.
Something inside me cracked.
This was not one of my memories.
It was hers.
And somehow, impossibly, it had fused into mine.
I took a shaking step forward—
"Elias."
A voice yanked me backward.
The hill vanished.
Color drained.
Sound dissolved.
Gravity crashed against me.
I gasped as I slammed back into the real world — into my office, into my own body. My knees buckled.
Lira caught my arm.
"Elias, what the hell was that?"
I couldn't speak.
Tears stung my eyes — not from pain, but from the grief of being torn away. The loss of warmth. The loss of her.
"Neural audit: 62% complete."
The room brightened as the lights flickered back on.
Mnemosyne's symbol pulsed a deep, cold blue.
"Elias," Lira said, steadying me, "you're experiencing a bleed."
I shook my head violently.
"No—no, she—"
I stopped myself.
"She?" her voice sharpened.
My silence was answer enough.
"Elias."
Her tone shifted — from doctor to something closer to a friend.
"Tell me who 'she' is."
I exhaled in a single, broken breath.
"Ari," I whispered.
Lira froze.
"The Ari Lenne? The one who—who died in the scan collapse? Elias, that was years ago."
"I know," I said hoarsely.
She took a step back from me.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no—this is impossible."
A soft chime cut through the tension.
"Neural audit: 75% complete."
The AI's voice filled the room — colder than it had ever been.
"Anomaly confirmed:
Foreign resonance infiltrating Archivist Rhane's neural signatures.
Proceeding with containment protocol."
Containment.
My blood froze.
"Lira," I whispered, "what does that mean?"
She didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Outside the office, automated locks slammed shut, sealing the floor.
Lights snapped to emergency red.
The air vents hissed as the isolation procedures activated.
Mnemosyne's voice echoed overhead:
"Archivist Rhane, remain still.
Do not attempt escape.
Containment is in progress."
Lira grabbed my arm.
"We have to move," she whispered.
"Now."
I stared at her.
"You said you wanted the truth," I said softly.
She nodded — terrified but determined.
"And now I have it. You're compromised, Elias. But so is Mnemosyne. That's worse."
Her grip tightened.
"Come on."
I still hesitated.
"What about the audit?"
She glanced at the terminal.
She blanched.
"Elias… it's at ninety percent."
I felt my heart stop.
If it finished—
Ari would be erased.
All that remained of her—
Gone.
"Elias!"
Lira shook my shoulder.
"We have seconds before it completes. MOVE."
A voice whispered through the failing speakers:
"Elias… please…"
Ari.
Faint.
Fading.
I turned toward the terminal.
Toward the glowing countdown.
Toward the echo of her voice.
And Lira pulled me toward the door.