The future was clean.
That was the lie Boris never questioned until it disappeared.
The chamber was white in a way only engineered spaces could be—no corners sharp enough to hurt, no surfaces rough enough to remind you that the world once resisted being touched. Even the air felt processed, regulated to a temperature that never surprised the body.
Melina stood beside him, arms folded loosely, watching the temporal field stabilize. Light bent inward, collapsing on itself in controlled layers. It was beautiful in a distant way—math pretending to be wonder.
"We'll be back before the tea cools," Boris said, trying to sound casual.
Melina smiled faintly. "You always say that."
"And I'm always right."
She looked at him. "You're right until you aren't."
The hum deepened. The device around Boris's wrist pulsed softly, syncing. Observation-only protocol. No interference. No physical contact. A clean look at a dirty past.
That was the promise.
The hum broke.
Not loudly. Just… wrong. Like a heart skipping a beat.
Boris's smile vanished. "Abort—"
The floor dropped.
Melina screamed as the world tore open.
There was no smooth transition, no gentle slide through time. Wind slammed into them, cold and wet, ripping the breath from Melina's lungs. Gravity returned with cruelty, and they hit the ground hard—bone, muscle, and instinct colliding with stone and mud.
Water thundered.
Boris groaned, rolling onto his side, vision blurring. Pain flared in his shoulder, sharp and real in a way simulations never were. He lay there, stunned, rain—or something like it—soaking through his clothes.
"Boris," Melina coughed. "Boris—answer me."
"I'm here," he managed. "I'm—"
He pushed himself upright and froze.
The sound wasn't rain.
It was a waterfall.
A massive column of white water crashed down from a cliff face that seemed impossibly tall, the impact shaking the ground beneath them. Mist filled the air, catching sunlight in broken halos. The roar was constant, overwhelming, ancient.
Melina stared, wide-eyed. "Oh my god."
The air smelled alive—wet stone, moss, something sharp and green. Not recycled. Not filtered. Real.
"This isn't a simulation," Boris said, though no one had suggested it was.
Melina took a step forward, then another, turning slowly. Trees rose around them—thick, wild, unshaped by tools or paths. Roots tore through the earth wherever they pleased. Nothing here had been planned.
"This is…" She swallowed. "This is before."
Boris looked at the device on his wrist.
Dark.
No interface. No coordinates. No return signal.
His chest tightened.
Melina noticed. "Boris."
"I know," he said quietly. "I know."
He brushed mud from his sleeve—and his hand passed through the fabric.
He stared.
Melina tried the same, fingers pressing into her arm. She could feel herself. Solid. Warm.
But when she reached toward the ground, her hand slipped through stone as though it were fog.
"No," she whispered. "No, no—this isn't—"
"Invisibility failsafe," Boris said automatically, then stopped. His voice sounded hollow. "It triggered."
"For who?" Melina asked, panic creeping in.
"For history."
They looked at each other.
They were here—but not here. Present without presence. Witnesses without weight.
Melina laughed once, sharp and broken. "So we're ghosts."
"Observers," Boris corrected weakly.
She shook her head. "Observers don't feel this."
The mist drifted through her hair, cold against her skin. The sound of the waterfall pressed in on her thoughts, too loud, too real. Somewhere nearby, something moved through the underbrush.
Melina's heart jumped. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes."
They turned together.
Figures stepped into the clearing on the far side of the river.
Humans.
Not crouched. Not animal. Upright, steady, alert.
They moved with a confidence that came from belonging—not dominance, not fear. Their bodies were lean, marked by scars that spoke of survival without care. Hair grew freely, uncut, unhidden. Skin was darkened by sun and weather.
No tools. No symbols. No clothes beyond simple coverings meant only for warmth.
Melina's breath caught. "They're… adults. All of them."
Boris noticed it too. No children. No elders.
Only those strong enough to still be here.
One of them knelt by the water, tasting it cautiously before drinking. Another stood still, eyes scanning—not for beauty, but threat.
They did not see Boris and Melina.
One walked straight through Melina.
She gasped, staggering back as the man passed through her body like smoke. Her hand flew to her mouth, tears welling instantly.
"I don't like this," she whispered. "I really don't like this."
Boris swallowed hard. His training told him to observe, to log, to stay detached.
But his stomach churned.
"These are people," Melina said, voice shaking. "They're not… prototypes. They're people."
"I know," Boris said. His voice was low. Tight. "I know."
They watched the humans move around the waterfall—not in awe, not in fear. With recognition. As if this place was simply part of their lives.
Melina's eyes filled. "They don't know anything. Do they?"
"No," Boris said.
She looked at him. "And we can't help."
"No," he repeated.
The waterfall roared on.
The humans settled into the clearing.
And Boris understood, with a clarity that hurt, that they had not arrived to witness history.
They had arrived to witness ignorance, alive and breathing.
And there was nothing—nothing—they were allowed to do about it.