Every city hums with its own rhythm—until you hear the threads beneath it shift.
The hallway outside was silent and seamless, lights brightening automatically as I passed. The elevator hummed down to street level, where Solence stirred in its usual rhythm.
I passed a line stretching outside the Solence Compatibility Center—couples waiting, hand in hand, fingers interlaced too tightly. Their threadbands glinted faintly in the filtered sun as they shifted from foot to foot, whispering hopes and fears. The digital banner above pulsed soft gold: "Compatibility is the first thread of unity. Be sure. Be chosen. Be whole.
I often imagined standing in that line with Thayer. A line that was there every single day. A constant reminder.
My hand brushed the clasp of my threadband, an old reflex I couldn't shake. For a moment, I swore I felt the ghost of his fingers threading through mine—warm, certain, and heartbreakingly real. The ache rose so sharp it hollowed my chest, and I forced my gaze away before it could consume me.
I wanted to take the test. Just once—to see what they'd say about us. He laughed when I brought it up. Said he already knew, and that was enough.
I told him I agreed. I think I did.
But still, I wonder what our number would've been. Would we have been on display at the compatibility event this year? The event for the perfect matches, the one hundred percenters.
I moved on before the ache could settle in and kept going.
I really didn't want to go to that event this weekend, but I promised Cali we'd go together this year. I doubt she'd let me get out of it without a grand reason, but I wasn't ready to tell the world my reason.
I slipped into the current like a loose thread, swept along unseen.
Solence moved in measured precision. Pedestrians flowed past in muted tones, brushing shoulders, threadbands glinting faintly beneath the filtered sun. A child tugged at their parent's wrist, the band's light pulsing like a heartbeat, as they were late for wherever they needed to be. Soulriders hummed along the magnetic lanes, weaving patterns of light through the city fog as distant announcements chimed in softly, politely.
All I wanted was to blend in and be an invisible thread that went unnoticed.
The Museum was just ahead, its arched entrance flanked by mirrored panels that shimmered with faint pulse lines of archived energy. Tourists lined the front plaza, eyes fixed to guides or companions, none noticing the undercurrent of something… frayed.
I passed through the security threshold, the scanner whispering a soft tone of clearance. The interior air was cooler here, tinged with the scent of old dust and charged with silence. My steps took me down the west hall and down to my wing.
I preferred it down here, quiet, forgotten, full of things left behind.
The archives were unusually still today, the kind of stillness that made every footstep sound too loud. Even the filtration vents seemed to hush themselves, their usual hum replaced by an almost reverent silence.
Dim light traced the outlines of locked doors like stitches in a wound.
I entered the lab, expecting to be alone at this early hour.
The air shifted, carrying the faintest sounds so soft it might have been my imagination.
Or not.
Levi was already there.
He stood beneath a flickering overhead strip, the light catching strands of his dark blonde hair and casting sharp shadows across his face. A holo-display hovered in front of him at the computer, numbers scrolling too fast to track. He didn't notice me at first—or he did and pretended not to.
"Something wrong with the system?" I asked.
His eyes flicked toward me, unreadable. "Not wrong. Just… inconsistent."
He angled the display so I could see. Dozens of archive entries—labeled, timestamped, cross-referenced. Except that some of them were marked as stored before their intake logs, days, or sometimes weeks before.
"That shouldn't be possible," I murmured.
"Unless someone's tampering with the logs," he said quietly. "Or trying to erase something without drawing attention."
A slight chill moved through me. "You think it's internal?"
Levi didn't answer right away. His gaze settled on me again, that too-long look he sometimes gave when I couldn't tell if he was studying me or shielding something.
"It's not the first inconsistency I've found," he said finally. "But I haven't reported it yet."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know who I'd be reporting it to."
His voice was low, but not uncertain.
Something in me tugged—an old instinct, warning, or invitation, I couldn't tell.
"I'll keep it to myself," I said.
"I figured you would."
He turned back to the display, but the moment stayed with me.
As I walked away, something inside me settled unexpectedly. A flicker of warmth, not mine, not fully. Like stepping into a room you've been in before, even if you don't remember when.
I glanced back at Levi. He hadn't moved.
There was no tension in my chest. No warning. If anything, I felt grounded. Safer than I had been in days.
I didn't know why.
But part of me, deep and instinctive, trusted him.
I didn't know why. Trust wasn't something I handed out anymore.
I left him to work alone. I didn't want to disturb him even more than he already seemed to be.
Just as I turned toward my office across from where I stood in the lab doorway, Cali came out of the elevator with a binder pressed to her chest and a coffee mug looped through her finger.
"Hey, you're actually out of the office today," she said.
I offered a small smile. "Briefly."
She slowed beside me, then sighed. "James wants to retake our compatibility test. Says if it's still low, then he's done."
I blinked. "Seriously?"
"Forty-three percent." Her voice dropped. "He thinks that means we're not aligned enough. He even said it could affect his life because his life revolves around becoming a part of the Atropa leadership, and most leaders have perfect matches. I've been thinking maybe I should end it first, but since he's got connections everywhere in Solence, I thought I should retake the test and be done with it."
My brow furrowed. "Do you want to?"
Cali hesitated. "I don't know. He's not awful. Just... entitled. I don't want to risk losing my job because I made the wrong person mad."
Her eyes searched mine like she wanted me to say something wise or brave, but I didn't have it in me today.
She gave a faint shrug. "Anyway. That's my drama. Good luck with the archives. And don't forget the Perfect Match festival this weekend."
Then she was gone, footsteps fading into the hum of the corridor.
I felt like I should have said more. I wish I could be as cheerful as she was. Honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't said anything about the way I've been this past year. Maybe I hid it better than I thought.
I returned to my office, spacious and quiet, lit faintly by the artificial skylights overhead...
The museum's basement levels always felt slightly cooler, like the air carried more ghosts than oxygen. A soft hum drifted in from the smaller adjacent lab, where diagnostic scanners idled in sleep mode. I sank into the chair behind my desk, eyes drifting over the shelves of categorized neural artifacts. Rows of emotion-laden capsules, encoded letters, and archived relics lined the walls, serving as silent witnesses to the past.
Why now?
Why was all of this happening now?
Hasley's journal. Her random letters. The memory that hadn't felt like mine. And Levi, his watchfulness today, didn't feel hostile. It felt… familiar. As if he were looking for something he had already suspected was there.
I wondered if this would be the time to tell him about the Journal.
I glanced toward the far wall, where a sealed case held the early emberlink prototype, a preserved fragment of history, inert but heavy with implication. I stared at it too long, the silence pressing in.
A strange stillness settled in my Chest—like the aftershock of an emotion I didn't remember having.
Not fear. Not comfort. Just… a shift.
Like the echo of a voice in a room you thought was empty.
It was gone just as quickly, but it left something behind. A hushed pull beneath the surface, like I'd almost remembered someone's name.
I blinked, and the room wavered. Just for a moment. Like the lights flickered—but they hadn't.
The next breath came slowly. Heavy.
I wasn't asleep. Not really. But something shifted—like my body staying seated while my mind stepped sideways.
The hum of the lab dimmed into silence.
I blinked, and the world slipped out from under me. The wall in front of me rippled, light bending as if something else waited just beyond it."Not again," I thought, still confused by the first time this happened.Whatever it was, it wasn't mine. But it kept calling me home.