The scanner clicked into calibration mode, humming low like a lullaby sung by a machine. The air turned still, heavy with anticipation. Eliora stood over Aaren, fingers poised above the interface like a pianist before the first note. But this wasn't music. This was memory—raw, volatile, forbidden.
She had never attempted this depth with a client like him before. Not without knowing what lay beneath the surface. But now she had no choice. The truth wasn't knocking anymore—it was pounding.
Aaren rested in the scan cradle, his chest rising steadily. He looked peaceful. Serene. But she knew better.
There were wars buried in people's minds. Sometimes they wore the face of love.
INITIATING DEEP SCAN...
ACCESS CODE: ELI-0783-B
TARGET: AAREN M. CAEL
Memory pulses flickered across the console, starting with faint sparks, then growing brighter—thousands of fragments rising like stars out of the darkness. Most were expected: childhood, music theory, his first piano. A soft blue memory of his mother humming in the kitchen.
And then—
A strand broke through.
Gold-tinged. Glitching at the edges. Tagged as:
"DELTA: NON-INDEXED / CONCEALED"
Eliora paused. Her fingers hovered above the activation key.
This memory wasn't just buried. It had been deliberately suppressed—walled off with encryption code that predated her own access. Someone had made sure it couldn't be recalled by accident.
She took a slow breath and keyed in an override.
ACCESS GRANTED.
The memory unfolded with a gasp of color.
The lake. Again. But this time not from a dream.
It was clearer now. Sharper. The wind stirred Eliora's hair—only, this time it wasn't a projection. It was hers. She was in the memory.
She turned toward the water and saw him—Aaren. Eyes closed. Smiling. Younger, but not by much. He was playing a melody on a small, worn-out synth keyboard resting on his lap. It was the same tune she'd heard him play days ago.
Only now, she knew it had been hers first.
She walked toward him in the memory. Sat beside him. Their shoulders touched. Her laugh—gentler then—bubbled out, and he leaned into it as if drawn by instinct.
> "Play it again," she said.
> "Only if you hum it with me."
> "Always," she whispered.
And then—
The memory fractured.
Glitched.
Corrupted.
The image buckled, and static spread across the field.
But before it collapsed entirely, one word echoed through the chamber—spoken in Aaren's dream-voice and Eliora's real one at once:
"Us."
And then the screen went dark.
Eliora staggered backward, her breath catching in her chest.
She had been there.
Not as a construct. Not as a phantom.
She had loved him.
A real memory. One they had both shared.
And someone—some organization—had erased it. Not just from him. From her too. All traces buried. Hidden.
Why?
She turned back to Aaren, who was stirring in the chair, lips moving faintly as if whispering to a ghost.
> "Don't let go this time," he mumbled.
She reached for his hand.
And froze.
His fingers curled gently into hers, with familiarity.
Not curiosity.
Recognition.
She knelt beside him, heart thundering.
"Aaren," she whispered.
His eyes fluttered open, though blind, and turned toward her.
"I know that voice," he said. "You were by the lake."
Her breath hitched.
"You remember?"
"Not clearly. But… your voice sounds like the wind that moved through the trees. And when you laughed just now, I saw green again. That green."
She couldn't stop the tears this time.
Not out of pain.
Out of relief.
Some things… weren't meant to survive.
But somehow, they had.
Back in her archive that evening, Eliora walked among the memory spheres, brushing her fingers against old glass-like surfaces—apologies, smiles, fragments of lives she didn't own but had once protected.
But tonight, one sphere floated differently.
It hovered higher.
Brighter.
She touched it and the memory from the lake replayed—this time whole. Untouched.
> Her head on his shoulder. Their hands intertwined. The lake singing quietly beneath a sky threatening rain.
It was theirs.
And now it had returned to them.
But if it had been erased once…
Who had done it?
And why?
She turned to leave.
And found a message blinking on her comm-pad.
Unknown Sender. No Subject. No Trace.
The message read:
> "You weren't supposed to find him again. Let this go. Before it's too late."
Eliora stared at the words.
Then deleted the message.
Because this time—
She wasn't letting go.