Rain beats softly against the windowpane, the steady patter a faint percussion beneath the low hum of the city. The storm has calmed, but the storm inside the cramped apartment is only beginning.
I sit at the kitchen table, the glow from Mara's broken phone flickering irregularly across the room. The screen displays lines of electronic code, a cryptic, scrolling script that spins just beyond my understanding. I reach out, hesitant, fingers brushing the cracked glass as if touching it will unlock the secrets buried beneath.
Mara watches me from the other side of the kitchen, wrapped in a thin towel, her skin pale and taut with uncertainty. She shifts nervously, glancing between me and the screen.
"I don't understand any of it," she says quietly. Her voice is soft, but there's a sharp edge underneath, like a threadbare thread stretched taut. "But something about these sequences... they feel like parts of a memory I'm meant to have. Like a song stuck in my head, but I can't quite remember the lyrics."
That catches at something deep in me. Eidolon. The project I helped shut down years ago. Memory reconstruction, AI integration, identity manipulation. Technology so dangerous we buried it in secrecy.
I tighten my grip on the chair. "It's from Project Eidolon," I say, voice low. "They built it to rewrite reality—memories, personalities. To create new people out of digital ghosts."
Mara's eyes widen as if the weight of my words crushes her. "Then ... why am I alive? Why am I part of this?"
Because you're more than you realize, though I'm not ready to say it yet. You're a copy. An echo.
Frustration floods me as the phone vibrates suddenly, punctuating the silence like a gunshot.
I snatch it up. New message. An audio file, corrupted, filled with static.
I press play.
A distorted synthetic voice rattles out a sequence of numbers and names. Then, chillingly, a whisper that sounds just like Mara: "Find the original. Erase the echo."
Her breath catches at the words. "What does that mean? Am I the fake? Is someone trying to erase me?"
I stand abruptly, heart hammering. "We can't stay here."
The danger is closer now. Somewhere, someone knows we are here.
Packed, we step into the damp night. Neon signs reflect off wet pavement, puddles muddled with light. The city hums around us, indifferent, dangerous.
Sirens wail in the distance, unnerving and urgent.
I reach for Mara's hand. It shakes but does not leave mine.
"We're not alone," she whispers, voice barely audible.
"No," I say almost fiercely, "never have been."
Every shadow could be watching. Every corner hides a threat. But also, every step pulls us closer—to the truth, to each other, and to the edge of everything we thought we knew.