The corridor was colder than usual, though neither Eira nor Kael mentioned it. The lights were flickering again, faint and irregular, casting long shadows that seemed almost alive in the dark.
Eira arrived first, stepping softly over the cracked tile near the old ventilation grate. The faint outline of the scorched handprint was still there—faded but stubborn. She pressed her palm to it and traced the shape without thinking.
Kael appeared moments later, his boots whispering over the floor. He carried a slim data pad, its surface scratched and worn from age.
"I found something," he said quietly, settling beside her against the wall. His eyes, usually restless, were steady and sharp.
Eira leaned closer, heart ticking faster. "What is it?"
Kael tapped the pad, and a holographic projection bloomed between them—lines of code twisting into diagrams and faded city schematics.
"This is part of the city's original neural network—the EchoNet," he explained. "Back before Final Calibration, before the system 'perfected' us."
He traced a finger over the map, pointing to sectors long marked as inactive or erased.
"They used it to monitor thoughts and emotions, but more than that... it was supposed to archive the people themselves. Memories, personalities, everything that made us human."
Eira frowned. "Like backups?"
Kael nodded. "Yes. But corrupted backups. After Final Calibration, large sections were wiped. Not just data, but the people tied to it—like they never existed."
His voice dropped. "Entire families, entire districts... vanished from the system's history. Their records erased, their memories locked away in failsafe archives."
Eira swallowed. "Why?"
"Control," Kael said bitterly. "Fear of the unknown. They feared the parts of us that refused to be streamlined."
He paused, eyes darkening. "I found logs of 'Behavioral Drift Events'—moments when people questioned, hesitated, remembered things they shouldn't. The system's response? Complete erasure."
The word hung heavy in the air.
"People... deleted," Eira whispered.
Kael's gaze found hers. "That's why the Registry flagged you. Because you're slipping through the cracks. Remembering when you shouldn't."
Eira's fingers clenched into fists. "Then what happens next? If I don't stop?"
Kael's jaw tightened. "You don't stop. We find a way to rewrite the system's memory—one forgotten trace at a time."
Eira looked away, heart pounding. The weight of it was almost too much.
But then, slowly, a fierce clarity settled.
"Then we start here," she said, nodding toward the scorched handprint.
"A place the system forgot."
Kael smiled, faint but real.
"A flaw worth keeping."
They sat in silence as the flickering lights dimmed further, the city's hum growing distant, almost hopeful.
The corridor's shadows pressed close around them, but Eira felt the cold less than the weight inside her chest. She sat still, knees pulled close, the flickering light casting broken patterns across her face. Her thoughts spun like threads tangled in darkness.
Kael's presence beside her was steady, but even that couldn't quiet the storm swirling inside.
She wanted to speak. To say something—anything—that might lessen the ache, the tightening coil of fear and doubt. But the words tangled, stuck in her throat like broken glass.
What if I'm the problem? The question whispered beneath every heartbeat.
If the system erases people like me, does that mean I don't belong? That I never belonged?
Her fingers grazed the faded handprint again, tracing its outline as if seeking answers in the worn metal.
"You think about it too much," Kael said softly, breaking the silence without turning toward her.
She glanced sideways. His eyes held a quiet understanding, but there was something else—a shadow of his own uncertainty.
"I can't stop," she admitted. "Not when everything feels so... wrong. Like my own skin doesn't fit anymore. Like I'm unraveling, piece by piece."
Kael nodded slowly. "It's what happens when you start remembering. The system isn't made for that. It's made to erase, to replace the messy parts with smooth surfaces."
Eira swallowed hard, the knot tightening.
"But what if I don't want to be erased?"
He shifted closer, lowering his voice. "Then you have to be louder than the silence they want from us."
She wanted to believe that. Wanted to hold onto that small spark of rebellion.
But doubt clawed at her.
She thought about her parents—how they'd looked at her today like she was a stranger, how her mother repeated the same phrase twice, how her father forgot her age. Were they already breaking? Or were she the fracture in their perfect world?
Her breath caught.
"What if I'm breaking them too?" she whispered.
Kael's hand brushed hers briefly—light, fleeting, but enough.
"We're all breaking," he said. "Some just haven't realized it yet."
The sound of distant footsteps echoed faintly through the corridor—too rhythmic, too measured to be casual.
Eira froze.
Kael's eyes sharpened.
"Vigil?" she breathed.
He shook his head. "Not yet. But close."
Their time was running out.
The city was watching, always watching.
And every secret they kept was a thread pulled tighter around their necks.
Eira pressed her palm to the cold wall beside her, grounding herself.
She didn't know what came next.
But she knew one thing:
The silence was no longer safe.