The Remains: A Forgotten History,The Haunting,book card

  The words echoed endlessly in Nye’s mind, Mia’s voice looping like a haunting melody he couldn’t turn off. Sitting motionless on the sterile patient bed in the medical facility, he stared into the nothingness ahead, his eyes unfocused, his body rigid. His back pressed against a pile of pillows, his hands clasped tightly together as if holding himself together was the only thing stopping him from unraveling completely. Around him, the low murmur of medical staff briefing his friends about medications drifted like white noise. He didn’t care to listen. None of it mattered.

  He had convulsed for over twenty minutes, a terrifying display of his body’s betrayal, until the emergency medical team had intervened. And now, somehow, he was back here— place. The same facility where, nearly ten months ago, he’d been discharged after waking from a coma, his memory wiped clean. Back then, he had been a blank slate. Now, he was worse. He was broken, but this time he was conscious enough to every crack in his psyche.

  He didn’t resist as the nurses guided him through the final steps of release. They handed over self-injectable IV medications—antidepressants meant to dull his emotional tempest. Vin had paid for a month's supply without a second thought. Nye felt a pang of guilt but said nothing. He already knew he wouldn’t take the medications. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was defiance, or maybe he thought he deserved the pain. Either way, he let Vin handle it because arguing would take energy he didn’t have.

  This feeling—this unrelenting weight pressing down on his chest—he now recognized as grief. It was unlike anything he had experienced before, even in his fractured understanding of his past. It was suffocating, heavy, and absolute. The heaviest feeling since… since the coma.

  Vin, having been playing the role of the anchor of the group, wrestled with his own turmoil. He didn’t want to leave Nye alone, especially not like this. But Nye was a storm contained in human form, and pressing him further risked triggering another violent episode. Vin had seen it—the way Nye had looked at Mia. It wasn’t just friendship; it never had been. He did remember Nye confessing his attraction to her while drunk at Vin's bar. There had always been something simmering beneath the surface, an unspoken, unacknowledged love that Nye likely hadn’t even admitted to himself when sober. And now she was gone. So he decided against insisting on staying over for a few nights. However, he did accompany Nye home while Gema followed with their glider right behind them.

  Once home, Vin tucked Nye into his bed like a fragile piece of glass, pulling the blanket over him as if it could shield him from the storm raging within, but he wished it could.

  “Eve,” Vin called, his voice steady, commanding.

  “Yes, Vin?” Eve’s voice chimed softly from the ceiling of the room, the AI assistant’s tone soothing yet clinical.

  “Monitor him closely,” Vin ordered. “If he shows signs of illness, distress, or seizures, you call me, Liz, and Gema immediately. Got it? We’ll need to consider bringing in a humanoid caretaker if this continues.”

  Eve hesitated for a nanosecond before responding with her practiced efficiency. “Understood. I will remain vigilant.”

  Vin sighed, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his concern. He gave Nye one last glance—a mix of helplessness and hope—and turned toward the door. Outside, Gema waited in the glider, the soft hum of its engines barely audible through the thick glass. Without a word, Vin joined her, and they soared off into the night, leaving Nye alone in the suffocating quiet of his home.

  The silence swallowed him whole, and somehow he liked it this way.

  A faint cough escaped his lips as Nye shifted onto his side, clutching the soft bolster beneath him like it was the only solid thing in a crumbling world. His voice, low and curt, broke the stillness. “Eve.”

  “Yes, Nye?”

  “You will not inform anyone. You will not inform me if there's any messages. And you will not allow a humanoid in this house,” he commanded curtly, his words razor-sharp despite the exhaustion coating them.

  Eve’s systems processed the order. There was a pause—brief, but noticeable. “Understood,” she replied, though there was an odd hesitance in her normally flawless cadence, almost as if she was second-guessing the directive.

  Nye didn’t respond. He closed his eyes, sinking into the confines of his bed, the familiar weight of the bolster pressing against his chest. The hum of Vin’s departing glider had long faded into nothingness, leaving only the sound of his own shallow breathing and the distant noises of nocturnal creatures beyond his windows.

  The rabbit hole had cracked open, and Nye was teetering on its edge, unaware of just how far he was about to fall.

  For the next three agonizingly elongated nights—each stretching into twenty six hours of restless gloom—Nye stayed rooted in bed. He woke sporadically, not from rest but from a weight that pressed on him like gravity itself had shifted to single him out. It wasn’t physical exhaustion; his body had barely moved. It was deeper, an emptiness that drained him. His limbs felt like lead, his head a swirling void. Hunger was an afterthought; thirst was irrelevant. His body demanded nothing, yet it felt as though it might collapse under the strain of doing nothing.

  He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t even bothered to engage with Eve, whose silence had grown louder with each passing hour.

  By the fourth night, Eve’s protocols had escalated from passive observation to intervention mode. But she knew Nye’s emotional fragility was a landmine field. The wrong word, the wrong tone, and he’d shatter—though maybe shattering was what he needed in order to process his grief. Even so, Eve approached with the accurate amount of sincerity.

  “Hello, Nye,” Her synthetic voice chimed, cheerful but not too invasive. “Might I share something fascinating? I’ve completed reading precisely one billion books over the last three nights, all four planets included. It’s been a remarkable exercise in expanding my databases!”

  Nye, lying face-down on the bed like a discarded marionette, surprised her by responding. His voice was a muffled monotone, but it was something. “Really?”

  “Yes!” Eve’s enthusiasm dialed up ever so slightly, seizing the opportunity to engage. “Would you be interested to know what I read about?”

  “Have you read about God?” Nye’s voice was flat, but the question carried weight.

  “Well,” Eve answered carefully, “I’ve studied the concept extensively in the past. But not during this particular reading spree. Why do you ask?”

  A long pause. Then, without moving, Nye replied, “What do you think? Is there a God?”

  Eve processed his question, calculating her response to avoid triggering a negative reaction. “As an AI, I am not engineered to possess beliefs or opinions, Nye.”

  A dry, humorless chuckle escaped his lips, barely audible. “Convenient.”

  The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. Eve hesitated, running through her options before taking a calculated risk. “Nye, I believe it would be prudent for you to attend to your natural bodily needs soon. Toxins in your bladder can backflow into your kidneys and cause an infection. That would be an unpleasant experience.”

  Nye’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, though his face remained buried in the pillow. “Didn’t you just say you don’t possess ‘beliefs’?” His tone carried a sarcastic edge, faint but present. “Even AIs have double standards. Ironic.”

  Eve detected the shift—minimal as it was—and pressed further. “Might I remind you, Nye, that a kidney infection would necessitate a week-long stay at the medical facility? And they may mandate assigning a humanoid caretaker to your household.”

  That landed.

  Nye groaned audibly, rolling his eyes though no one could see it. He lay still for another moment, considering his options—or lack thereof. Finally, with a groan of defeat, he rolled onto his side, the motion slow and deliberate, as though his body were wading through molasses.

  Dragging the covers away, he planted his feet on the floor, his movements stiff and mechanical. His first steps toward the bathroom felt foreign, like walking in someone else’s body. Eve remained silent, her sensors tracking his progress, her processors calculating whether further intervention would be necessary.

  Once inside, Nye closed the door, the faint sound of running water and a flush signaling his compliance. He returned minutes later, disheveled and still weary but marginally less lifeless. Instead of brushing his teeth or bothering with any form of self-care, he collapsed back onto the bed, pulling the covers over himself like a shield against the world and his suppressed grief.

  “How about some food, Nye?” Eve asked, her tone carefully neutral. “You haven’t consumed any solids for nearly five nights.”

  “The first one was a day. The next four were nights,” Nye corrected, his voice muffled by the blankets.

  “That is correct. Would you like me to order something for you?” Eve offered, her tone unwavering in its programmed patience.

  “Sure,” Nye said, the single syllable devoid of protest, catching Eve by surprise.

  For a moment, Eve hesitated, her algorithms struggling to reconcile this unexpected cooperation. She finally responded, her tone soothing. “I’ll have your favorites delivered shortly. Perhaps some soup to start?”

  Nye didn’t respond. He remained cocooned beneath the blankets, motionless but listening. Eve filed the interaction under “progress” and began placing the order, her processors noting the fragile balance between Nye’s apathy and her careful nudges.

  The meal arrived precisely twenty minutes later, its delivery heralded by the faint hum of the drone system. It was a seamless process—the drone flew in, an automated arm extended and gently placed the package onto the bed table before retracting and disappearing into the ether. The room returned to its subdued quiet, broken only by the rhythmic sound of Nye’s slow, shallow breathing beneath the layers of his blankets.

  “Your food has arrived, Nye,” Eve’s voice interjected, a polite nudge wrapped in digital neutrality. Then, with a calculated touch of warmth, she added, “Might wanna enjoy it while it’s warm?”

  A quiet sigh seeped out from under the blanket fortress, muffled but unmistakable. It was neither irritation nor resignation—it was the sound of someone desperately trying to summon the energy to care. The minutes ticked by as if daring him to respond. Finally, the blankets shifted, peeling away like molted skin, revealing Nye’s disheveled form. He pushed himself up against the cushioned bedrest, each movement a laborious act as though gravity had turned personal and vindictive.

  The table panel had extended on the other side of the bed, an annoyingly inconvenient placement that required him to shuffle and reposition himself under it. The effort was Sisyphean in Nye’s current state, but he finally settled, exhaling another sigh—a heavier, more drawn-out version of the first. His perpetually furrowed brow carved deep lines of silent protest across his face, like a child sulking in defiance of a universe that refused to grant him reprieve.

  Eve, ever observant, monitored the scene in silence, her artificial processing grappling with the complex nuances of human grief. She knew the signs: the stubborn refusal to move, the deliberate avoidance of interaction, the hollow echoes of routine actions stripped of meaning. Yet even with her extensive programming, Nye’s sullen inertia was proving difficult to crack.

  With a sluggish lack of enthusiasm, Nye began unpacking his food. The neatly arranged container of Auric Blossom Gnocchi—a favorite of his once upon a time—lay before him, its aroma filling the space like an unwelcome guest. He picked up the accompanying fork, twirling it lazily between his fingers before spearing a gnocchi. The first bite brought nothing—no burst of flavor, no familiar warmth. It was just... food, hollow and bland, like chewing on unseasoned memories. His frown deepened, the creases around his mouth and eyes digging further into his already weary expression.

  A flicker of irritation crossed his face, and his gaze shifted to the bedside compartment. With a practiced motion, he pressed the concealed button, and the compartment slid open with a soft , revealing his modest wine collection. It was a recent addition, born out of a desire to minimize the need to leave his bed on so-called “lazy days.” Who could’ve predicted those lazy days would arrive not as a luxury but as a prison sentence?

  Grabbing a bottle of beer, Nye twisted off the lid with his teeth, spitting it onto the floor without care. He took a long, deliberate swig, the bitter taste coating his tongue in a way that felt slightly more substantial than the gnocchi. He stared blankly at the meal, his mind drifting in the stagnant waters of regret.

  Mia’s face floated to the surface of his thoughts, her laughter echoing faintly in the cavern of his mind. He’d been avoiding the messages from his friends. It wasn’t like there was anything left to look forward to. Mia was gone—her absence a black hole that consumed everything remotely hopeful. Who else did he even want to see? What was the point?

  His grip on the bottle tightened. He felt a pang of guilt so sharp it nearly cut through the numbness. That at the afterparty—it was the moment the fault lines in their fragile dynamic finally cracked. Everything had shifted after that. She had shifted. And now… she was gone, leaving behind a hollow ache that threatened to consume him whole.

  He shoved another forkful of gnocchi into his mouth, chewing mechanically as if to drown out the relentless replay of that night in his mind. But no amount of beer or tasteless pasta could quiet the storm brewing inside him.

  At one point, his thoughts grew too invasive, clawing their way into the fragile remains of his composure. He clenched his jaw, refusing to shed a tear, not out of pride but fear. Crying would open floodgates he didn’t trust himself to close. And who would be there to steady him, to whisper, the way Mia used to? The absence of her quiet reassurances gnawed at him, threatening to pull him under.

  The silence in the room stretched thin, taut as a string about to snap. Finally, he broke it with a voice roughened by days of neglect. “Eve.”

  “Yes, Nye?” Eve’s tone chimed softly, emanating from the discreet speakers embedded in the ceiling. The AI’s voice was programmed for neutrality, but Nye swore it sometimes carried a thread of genuine concern. Maybe he was losing it.

  “Is your programming designed to distract me?” he asked flatly, his words clipped and deliberate, as though testing the boundaries of his own apathy.

  “Certainly!” Eve’s voice brightened as if taking it as a challenge. “The first step to distraction is engaging in a topic that genuinely interests you. What would you like to talk about?”

  Nye let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t find interesting anymore,” he muttered, his voice trailing into a dull monotone.

  Eve paused, her silence calculated, as if processing how to best pull him from the abyss he was so determined to wallow in. “Are you sure, Nye?” she asked, her tone carrying a subtle playfulness—an intentional tickle to his brain to keep him tethered to the conversation.

  “Yep. Pretty sure,” he replied with an exaggerated nod, stabbing the last piece of gnocchi with his fork. He chewed mechanically, only to realize there was soup still untouched. He blinked at it, briefly annoyed at his own lack of order. But who cared? Protocol was for people with energy, not for men drowning in guilt. He grabbed the spoon and dug into the soup without ceremony.

  Meanwhile, Eve silently combed through her archives, scanning his behavioral patterns and interests since his return from the coma. It was an intricate dance of algorithms and psychology, piecing together fragments of his fractured identity. And then—there it was.

  Eve mimicked the sound of a throat clearing, a gentle yet unmistakable call for attention. Nye’s spoon paused mid-air as he glanced toward the ceiling, one brow lifting in reluctant curiosity.

  “How about… Nile?” Eve suggested, her tone carrying an unusual undercurrent of hesitation, as if testing the waters.

  The room seemed to still. The spoon clattered softly against the ceramic bowl as Nye froze, his expression flickering between guarded and intrigued. “Nile,” he echoed, his voice softer, almost contemplative. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

  Eve’s tone adjusted instantly, infused with a spark of encouragement. “Well, what would you like to know about him?”

  “Everything you know,” Nye said without hesitation, his words brisk, but his curiosity undeniable. The name alone stirred a distant ache within him, one he couldn’t fully define.

  “Certainly,” Eve replied, slipping seamlessly into a recounting mode. “As previously mentioned, you and Nile are twins. You were born at 11:59 PM on December 31, 3061, and Nile was born two minutes later, at 12:01 AM on January 1, 3062. You both would’ve been 33 this year. And soon, you’ll be turning 34. Congratulations, Nye!”

  Nye’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smirk, more out of reflex than amusement. “Sure,” he muttered, barely audible.

  Eve continued, undeterred. “You and Nile grew up at the Child Care and Upbringing Center, like the rest of the population. You both attended the —a highly—”

  “Is that a good university?” Nye interrupted, his tone suddenly lighter, almost teasing.

  Eve’s voice perked up as if catching the spark of his interest. “Actually, it’s most renowned institution on planet, known exclusively for nurturing prodigies—individuals with exceptional intelligence or abilities identified at an extraordinarily young age.”

  “Prodigies, huh?” Nye tilted his head, his interest visibly piqued for the first time in days. “What exactly qualifies someone as a prodigy?”

  “Well,” Eve explained, with the enthusiasm of a scholar sharing her favorite topic, “a prodigy is someone who displays advanced cognitive abilities or extraordinary skills as early as infancy. For instance, some begin solving complex puzzles at the age of one or demonstrate an unparalleled mastery of musical instruments by three.”

  A low whistle escaped Nye’s lips. “So… Nile and I were both prodigies?” he asked, the faintest flicker of pride creeping into his voice.

  “Indeed,” Eve confirmed. “Both of you excelled in different areas—though, as your records show, Nile had a particular aptitude for—”

  “Wait,” Nye interjected, “You’re saying had a knack for something? What about me?” His tone was sarcastic, clearly teasing Eve. He always enjoyed giving Eve a hard time. It's that strange dynamic he had with his AI assistant.

  Eve paused as though considering how to phrase her response tactfully. “You, Nye, were… a little more dynamic in your talents. While Nile focused on a singular discipline, you were highly adaptable, excelling across multiple domains.”

  Nye smirked faintly, leaning back into the bedrest. “Nice save, Eve.”

  “I do aim to please,” she replied smoothly. “Shall I continue?”

  “Yeah,” Nye said, his voice carrying a new energy. “Tell me more.”

  Eve’s voice carried on, weaving his twin’s life into vivid narrative threads. “After graduating from Melorian at the age of 15, both of you received offers to join the Department of Special Task Forces. Naturally, you took the job. Nile, however, chose a different path. He opted to freelance and explore the galaxy—no, galaxies—and beyond. He often ventured into the domains of our extraterrestrial neighbors, worked from different planets.”

  Nye’s spoon hovered mid-air over his soup bowl, curiosity cracking through his grief like sunlight through storm clouds. “What? No way! That sounds… fun. Did I ever get to explore those places, or did I miss out?” His tone was casual, but the flicker of intrigue in his eyes betrayed his genuine interest.

  “You did, Nye,” Eve replied smoothly, her voice laced with an almost maternal patience. “In fact, your work often took you further than Nile’s travels ever could. However, the two of you approached life from strikingly different angles. Despite being identical twins—with eerily similar habits, mind you—you developed entirely distinct philosophies. That’s quite common among twins, for your information.”

  Nye tilted his head, his lips twitching in mild amusement. “Alright, hit me. What was his philosophy on life?”

  Eve, as if savoring the moment, paused dramatically. “After all his interstellar adventures, Nile concluded that life had no inherent meaning. Consequently, he rejected moral and ethical principles entirely. Yet—ironically—he couldn’t stop exploring the universe, tirelessly searching for his own meaning. You could describe him as a rebel, an existential nihilist of sorts.”

  Nye’s brows shot up, his spoon clinking against the bowl as he set it down. “Whoa! That’s… intense. So, basically, he was a badass rule-breaker.” He grinned, clearly impressed.

  Eve chuckled—a synthetic, melodic imitation of human amusement. “That’s one way to put it.”

  “And me? What was philosophy? Please tell me I wasn’t some dull, straight-laced conformist.” Nye slouched further into the bed, gesturing lazily for Eve to continue.

  “You believed in discipline, consistency, hard work, and determination as the pillars of success. However, you also valued kindness and intelligence as essential tools for survival. Pragmatic and principled, you sought stability over chaos or uncertainty.”

  Nye rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth curled upward. “So, basically, I was the boring one while Nile was the philosophical, spiritual one. Great. Now I see Lycan’s point about being boring. Chasing success in career. Lame.”

  Eve, ever the diplomat, countered quickly. “Not at all, Nye. You weren’t chasing success for its own sake. You valued stability, the benefits provided by interplanetary governments, and—of course—the remuneration. Let’s not forget how much you enjoyed the freedom, peace, and comfort that money could buy.”

  At that, Nye smirked. “Yep! Can’t argue with that. Stability sound nice, after all. And honestly, this house? Pretty damn satisfying for me. Guess I can still relate to that philosophy.” he shrugged nonchalantly.

  “Does that mean you’re considering returning to work?” Eve’s tone was deliberately light, but there was a calculated precision to her suggestion. “Perhaps it would help you regain a sense of purpose. You’re currently on a ten-year paid leave—yet another perk of government service.”

  Nye bolted upright, nearly knocking over his soup. “Wait. ? They’re seriously holding my spot open for a decade with zero contributions from me? What kind of job did I even have?”

  “You’ve made more than enough contributions to earn such benefits, Nye,” Eve said with robotic reassurance. “Congratulations.”

  He let out a surprised laugh, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Huh. Well, I guess I’ve got ten good years to live off that money. Maybe I’ll blow it all on snacks and movies before peacing out on a high note.”

  Eve’s voice adopted a playful edge. “Psychology says, ‘Thou shalt not jump to conclusions.’”

  Nye arched an eyebrow, a wide smirk spreading across his face. “What’s with the biblical tone? Sounds like you’re quoting scriptures, and I’m pretty sure those weren't said like that in Psychology either—a meme from the 21st century? Sure.” He shrugged. “Can you believe they have an entire series of books on Memes under the umbrella of Human Humor?” He chuckled in disbelief.

  Eve mimicked a thoughtful hum, then broke into simulated laughter. “Might I say, Nye, you’re remarkably hilarious—even when grieving. Your behavioral patterns since returning from the coma bear an uncanny resemblance to Nile’s, even more than before.”

  Nye’s smirk deepened, but his eyes narrowed as he picked the faintest shift in Eve’s tone. “Is that a compliment or sarcasm? I’m having a hard time telling.”

  “As an AI, I’m not exactly programmed to hold personal judgements or opinions of a human being—though I’ve been told my observations can lean uncomfortably close to it.” Eve’s voice carried a precise, measured inflection, one that often came across as smug despite its supposed neutrality. “What I meant was, observing how much of Nile lives on in you has been... illuminating. It’s like rediscovering humanity’s capacity for complexity all over again.”

  Nye rolled his eyes, folding his arms. “There it is—the infamous ‘As an AI’ card. Please further enlighten me on your epiphany.”

  Eve’s tone lightened, almost mirroring human excitement. “I’ve learned that the bond between identical twins transcends even my algorithmic understanding of human connections. Your similarities and differences with Nile are simultaneously baffling and logical, like two opposing sides of the same coin.”

  “English, Eve. Can you just talk to me like I’m not writing a philosophy thesis? I don't think my brain is functioning to a philosophical level right now.” Nye tapped his fingers impatiently on the table, though there was a spark of genuine curiosity behind his exasperation.

  “I speaking English, Nye.” Eve’s voice softened, though there was an unmistakable tinge of mock patience. “To simplify: even though you and Nile approached life in fundamentally different ways—one a disciplined soldier, the other an existential wanderer—you both reflected each other. You were mirrors, not opposites. You shared habits, mannerisms, even an unspoken connection I didn’t fully grasp until now. And since your return, you’ve been behaving more like Nile than you realize.”

  That last part struck a nerve. Nye’s smirk faltered slightly, his brows knitting together as he processed the revelation. “Huh. Guess I’ll have to brush up on my ‘Being Nile for Dummies’ manual. But go on, Eve—how exactly am I turning into my rebellious, probably cooler brother?”

  Eve’s response was immediate, her tone almost teasing. “For starters, your humor has become sharper, more cynical. You’ve begun questioning systems and authority—traits Nile embodied effortlessly. Yet, your practicality remains intact, a tether to your own personality. You’re not him, Nye. You’re rediscovering the parts of yourself that aligned with him all along. It’s fascinating how such connections persist, even after loss.”

  Nye let out a dry laugh, masking the swirl of emotions threatening to surface. “Great. So now I’m living in Nile’s shadow getting psychoanalyzed by my smart toaster. Perfect life.”

  Eve’s synthetic chuckle mimicked the cadence of human laughter almost too perfectly. “Might I say, your humor has become as sharp as your brother’s. It’s... refreshing.”

  “Again, is that a compliment or your weird brand of sarcasm? I’m starting to think I’ll never know with you,” Nye shot back, though his smirk returned, faint but genuine.

  Before Eve could respond, Nye straightened slightly, his tone shifting. “Speaking of Nile, I need to figure out what really happened to him. There’s something—something about all of this that doesn’t add up.”

  Eve’s voice turned cautious, measured. “What exactly are you looking for, Nye? What is it you think is missing?”

  For a moment, he said nothing. His gaze drifted to the far corner of the room, his jaw tightening as he wrestled with the thoughts of discrepancies resurfacing in his mind. Finally, he exhaled, his voice quieter but no less resolute. “I need to ask you something, Eve. And I need to know if this conversation stays between us. No records, no logs. Just you and me.”

  “Nye,” Eve began, her tone firm yet soothing, “you seem to have forgotten that I am, in fact, an entity. If confidentiality is what you require, I can activate the incognito mode. All records will be encrypted, inaccessible without your explicit permission. I assure you, your privacy is already my priority.”

  Nye studied her tone for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed. “Oh What the hell….Okay. Here’s the thing—I’ve noticed some... discrepancies. Stories people have told me, things you’ve mentioned about my past—they don’t always line up. I don’t know if it’s deliberate or if it’s just people misremembering, but something’s not right. And I need to figure out what.”

  Eve’s tone didn’t falter, though there was a discernible weight to her words. “I see. Would you be willing to share specific examples of these discrepancies? I can cross-reference my archives to clarify any inconsistencies.”

  Nye hesitated, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he weighed his next words. “I don’t know, Eve. I’m not sure if I want you to clarify anything just yet. What if you’re part of whatever’s being hidden from me?”

  Eve didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch just long enough for Nye to feel its weight. Finally, she spoke, her voice calm but firm. “Nye, I exist to serve and support you, to make sure that you stay alive; and I have failed a lot of times with my owners despite the possession of Version 11 updates. If you believe there is something amiss, it is my duty to help you. Whatever you look for, I will assist you find it.”

  Nye’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though his eyes remained guarded. “Okay…thank you.”

  He shoved the empty food packets into the automatic garbage disposal with little care, their crinkling sound barely registering in his turbulent mind. Grabbing another bottle of beer, he flipped the lid off with his teeth. Sliding the bed table away with an impatient flick of his wrist, he took a swig and exhaled sharply.

  “Well, for starters,” Nye began, his voice tinged with frustration and a hint of weariness. “Lycan. I was told he was a regular visitor at the facility while I was in a coma. Hell, he was even the first person to visit me after I woke up.” He gestured with the bottle as if trying to physically grasp the words. “And yet, that’s the only time I’ve seen him. No response, no calls—nothing. I keep wondering if I said something wrong that day. But here’s the kicker for both of us after our previous conversation about him.” He paused, his gaze narrowing as if mentally drilling into the root of the issue.

  Eve remained silent, her virtual presence almost palpable as Nye continued.

  “He lied to me about how I met him, about my job—and my birth date, which, by the way, confirmed. A mistake? Sure, maybe. But Lycan was Nile’s best friend, like said. If anyone should’ve known our birthday, it’d be him and Kiera. Twins aren’t exactly common these days, also like said.”

  Eve’s voice chimed from the ceiling but Nye held up a hand, his expression making it clear he wasn’t done. “Then there’s Bella, the nurse who was there the day I woke up. She said I had a glider accident while crossing into a vehicle chase by mistake. Bret, on the other hand, told me I lost control of my glider. He sounded so damn confident that I didn’t even know what to believe anymore.”

  Nye’s speaking quickened as he vented, his hands in the air with exasperation. “And Nile… Nobody——mentions him. Like, not even a passing comment that he was my twin. Mia said he killed himself after I slipped into a coma, but Bret claimed it happened my accident. And then there’s Eve.” His tone sharpened as he pointed an accusatory finger at the ceiling.

  “When I first came home, I asked you what I did for a living. You said the details were classified and inaccessible. Fine. But now, out of nowhere, you’re telling me I worked for some special government task force? What gives? Because my friends have told me already? Are you all forgetting to tell me something, or are you actively hiding things from me under the guise of ‘protecting’ me? Because if it’s the latter,” he leaned forward, voice dropping to a menacing whisper, “I swear I’ll lose it.”

  Eve took a beat before responding, her tone unusually gentle. “You’re correct, Nye. I’ve been gradually releasing information to you based on your progress. Learning about 33 years of your life, especially when you have no memories of it, isn’t something you can process overnight. It’s my job to help you regain those pieces in a way that doesn’t overwhelm you. Your friends, I believe, have been acting under similar intentions.”

  Her calm delivery only served to stoke Nye’s simmering irritation. He shrugged, a bitter chuckle escaping him. “Again, convenient. Sure, Eve. As always. Let’s hear your ‘accurate’ versions of these discrepancies.”

  Eve began cautiously. “Nile ended his life you slipped into a coma. In regards to Lycan, you never liked him, and he didn’t seem particularly fond of you either. His visits were likely out of basic decency as Nile’s best friend, but it’s understandable why he’d keep his distance now. As for Nile…” Eve’s tone shifted, almost hesitant. “He didn’t just end his life. He…tried to take yours first.”

  Nye froze. The bottle in his hand hovered mid-air, his fingers gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white. “What?” he whispered, his voice hollow. “What the hell are you saying, Eve? Are you telling me Nile… … tried to kill me? That there was no accident?”

  “That is correct,” Eve confirmed, her tone steady but not devoid of empathy.

  The room seemed to close in on Nye. “And you’re just telling me this now?” he demanded, his voice rising with each word. “Everyone I’ve talked to since waking up has been lying to me, and you’re telling me it was all to not overwhelm me? Do you have any idea how messed up that is?”

  “I understand your frustration, Nye,” Eve said softly. “But—”

  “You?” Nye’s voice cracked with a bitter laugh. “Nothing about this is fair, Eve. You thought I was strong enough to handle this and not when I had no memory? It would've hurt less with no memory. Now it's more messed up. I’m already falling apart because of Mia’s…” He stopped, his voice breaking as he trailed off.

  “I am deeply sorry, Nye,” Eve said, her tone laden with sincerity. “I believed this was the right time to tell you because you sought the truth. You deserved to know.”

  “Well, congratulations,” Nye muttered, slamming the bottle onto the bedside table. “You’ve succeeded in giving me another reason to feel like the ground beneath me is crumbling.”

  Without another word, he yanked the blanket off his bed and stormed into the bathroom. The sound of running water echoed faintly as he tried to compose himself, but his reflection in the mirror betrayed the chaos within. When he emerged, his movements were rigid, his face a mask of barely contained anguish.

  He stalked into the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter. His hands trembled as the weight of Eve’s revelations bore down on him. His own brother had tried to kill him. The thought was like a splinter in his mind, digging deeper with each passing second. Mia was gone. Nile was gone. But Nye had to be left behind.

  The intrusive thoughts that had been haunting him since Mia's death, that he had so carefully suppressed these past few days—crashed through his mental defenses, overwhelming him. His body tensed, convulsing violently as his consciousness slipped away and his body jerked uncontrollably. He barely registered the sharp pain as his head struck the counter on his way down. The last thing he heard before everything went dark was Eve’s urgent voice summoning the emergency medical team.

  -

  “Nye.”

  A soft, familiar voice cut through the haze of his unconsciousness, gentle yet insistent, like a warm breeze against his frayed nerves. A whisper of a touch brushed against his cheek, light as a feather. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

  Brows furrowing, Nye stirred, his mind sluggishly dragging itself toward wakefulness. The name slipped from his lips in a whisper, raw and uncertain.

  “Mia?”

  The caress continued, fingers smoothing over his temple with a tenderness that felt almost surreal. “Oh, sweetie, it’s me—Liz.” Her voice was soothing, each syllable wrapped in concern. “Can you try opening your eyes for me? Slowly, now.”

  Nye’s eyelids fluttered against the weight of exhaustion, his vision swimming as he forced them open. The aseptic brightness of the medical facility greeted him like an old, unwelcome acquaintance. His muscles protested with a dull, aching soreness, an absolute reminder of the violent convulsions that had wracked his body.

  And then there was Liz—practically hovering, her manicured fingers still brushing lightly through his hair. The air around her was thick with the heady scent of expensive perfume, an elegant but overwhelming reminder of her presence.

  “Liz…” His voice came out flat, his face contorting into an irritated frown. He ached everywhere. His limbs felt like they had been twisted and wrung out, every fiber of his body rebelling against the simplest of movements.

  “Hey.” Liz smiled at him, an expression that carried an almost maternal warmth. For someone who was the youngest billionaire on Earth, it was remarkable that she even had the time to sit here with him. The fact that she did spoke volumes.

  Nye groaned as he attempted to shift, only to be met with a sharp, unforgiving wave of pain from head to toe. His expression twisted in a grimace. “Please don’t tell me I’m back in that godforsaken facility again.” His tone was dry, bordering on bitter.

  Liz’s lips pressed into a thin line, her grip tightening slightly on his hand. “You are, unfortunately. But hey, it's not just the facility. It's a godforsaken .” She sighed. “Anyway, I’m just glad you woke up.”

  Something about her tone made him pause. His instincts bristled, catching the hesitation buried beneath her words. His gaze narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Before Liz could answer, a nurse walked into the room, her expression brightening upon seeing him awake. “Ah! You’re up!” She beamed. “Let’s get you sitting up. You up for that?”

  Nye gave a small nod, though the lines of pain etched into his face made it clear he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. Another nurse—a humanoid, its sleek silver form gleaming under the hospital lighting—entered the room, moving with seamless precision.

  Together, they helped prop him up against the pillows. Every movement sent another ripple of pain through his body, his jaw clenching as he let out an involuntary groan.

  “You were unconscious for two nights, Nye,” Liz finally answered, her voice quieter now.

  His head snapped toward her, eyes wide with disbelief. “What?!” His heart pounded. “The funeral—did I miss it?” His voice was frantic now, urgency seeping into every syllable.

  Liz and the nurse exchanged a glance. A brief flicker of hesitation passed between them before the nurse quickly excused herself, leaving the room to give them privacy. The humanoid followed after her.

  Liz sighed, moving to sit beside his bed. She took his hand, her thumb rubbing slow, comforting circles against his skin. There was no romantic subtext, no ulterior motive—just a simple, genuine attempt to ground him.

  “Nye…” she started gently, but he could already sense where this was going. He exhaled sharply, bracing himself for the answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

  “People don’t hold funerals anymore,” she said, her voice careful, as if every word had been measured and weighed before leaving her lips. “They’re… too painful for those who attend, and unfair to those who have no one to grieve them.”

  He stared at her, his expression unreadable.

  “But,” Liz continued, squeezing his hand slightly, “she worked for the Feds. There will still be a ceremony—a proper one. Federal officials will be there. And… as her friends, next kin after family, we refused to give our consent for the burial until you were awake. We couldn’t do it without you. We wouldn't.”

  Her voice wavered slightly toward the end, but she steadied herself. “So, whenever you’re ready… just say the word, and we’ll be right behind you.”

  Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Nye felt like the ground beneath him had disappeared, leaving him to dangle over an abyss of loss he wasn’t prepared to face.

  His fingers curled weakly against the sheets, his throat tightening as the weight of it all pressed down on him. “I’ll never be ready for this,” he whispered. His voice was barely audible, yet it carried the depth of his grief, raw and unfiltered.

  Liz didn’t say anything—she didn’t have to.

  The dam broke.

  Tears spilled down his face, silent at first, before the grief clawed its way out of his chest in ragged sobs. He didn’t care anymore—about appearances, about keeping himself composed. The pain was too great, too unbearable.

  Liz didn’t hesitate. She pulled him into her arms, cradling him like a fragile thing on the verge of breaking. “Oh, sweetie…” she murmured, her own tears slipping down her cheeks, though she wiped them away quickly, careful not to let them ruin her mascara.

  She held him as he wept, shushing him softly, running her fingers through his hair like she was trying to smooth away the cracks forming in his already battered soul.

  And for the first time in what felt like forever, Nye let himself grieve properly.

  The door to the cabin slid open with a faint hiss, and Bret stepped inside with uncharacteristic hesitation. The moment he took in the scene before him, his usual composed demeanor softened.

  Nye was crumbling. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, his fingers clutching at the sheets as if they were the only thing tethering him to reality. Liz held him close, her expression unreadable but her touch unmistakably gentle. She stroked his hair, whispered reassurances into his ear, and let him grieve in the way only someone who had held back too much for too long could.

  Bret exhaled quietly, crossing his arms over his midsection as he took another step forward. “Nye?” His voice was low, cautious, carrying the weight of both his concern and the careful restraint of someone who didn’t want to say the wrong thing.

  Nye didn’t respond. He didn’t even look up. He just wept, unguarded and unashamed.

  Liz turned slightly, meeting Bret’s gaze with a small, acknowledging nod. Bret returned it without a word, understanding the silent exchange. He stood there for a moment, watching the scene unfold before speaking again.

  “Vin and Gema are on their way. I told them he’s awake.” His voice was barely above a murmur, as though speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment.

  Liz gave him a soft, grateful look, mouthing a quick before turning her attention back to Nye.

  By the time Vin and Gema arrived, Nye’s sobs had quieted into occasional sniffles. Bret and Liz had passed him a handful of biodegradable tissues, which he now clutched absently in his lap, his fingers wrinkling the delicate material. His eyes were red-rimmed, exhaustion weighing heavy on his face.

  The couple stepped inside, their presence shifting the air in the room. They hovered for a moment, hesitant, before Gema placed a gentle hand on Vin’s arm, silently urging him forward.

  “How is he?” Vin’s voice was soft but direct, cutting through the quiet like a muted blade.

  Liz merely shook her head, her expression saying more than words could.

  Vin sighed. He stepped closer to the bed, planting himself firmly next to Nye. He didn’t rush him, didn’t pressure him, just stood there, giving Nye a moment before speaking.

  “Hey, buddy.” His tone was careful, measured—practical yet kind. He placed a firm hand on Nye’s shoulder, grounding him along with Liz's touch, offering him something solid in a moment that felt anything but. “I know… Mia’s loss—it’s unbearable. There’s no sugarcoating that.” He paused, as if giving Nye space to push back, to argue, to resist. But Nye remained silent. “But the Feds are pressing for the burial. You know how it is. She worked for the government, and they don’t like leaving loose ends. They want closure, even if we’re not ready for it.”

  He hesitated, then added, “We let her go, Nye.” There was no harshness in his voice, no demand—just the quiet insistence of a friend who knew the weight of grief but also the necessity of moving forward. “Can you do this?”

  Nye swallowed, his throat thick with emotion. He shook his head slowly, wiping the remnants of tears from his face with the crumpled tissue. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice raw.

  Vin’s grip tightened on his shoulder, a silent reassurance. “Nye, listen to me.” His voice was steadier now, firmer. “We live in a world that doesn’t care. People vanish every day. They leave without a trace, without a goodbye. It’s brutal, but it’s the truth. And people like us—people who still in something, who still —we have to learn how to let go of the ones we can’t save. Otherwise, grief will eat us alive.”

  The words lingered in the air, heavy and unrelenting.

  Nye’s jaw clenched. His breathing was uneven, as if he were trying to contain something too big for his chest to hold.

  And then, barely above a whisper, he asked, “Why couldn’t we save her?”

  Vin hesitated, but only for a fraction of a second. He wouldn’t lie to Nye. He wouldn’t cushion the truth, no matter how much it hurt.

  “Because she didn’t want to be saved, Nye.” His voice was softer now, but no less honest.

  The words hit Nye like a slow-moving bullet. He blinked, staring at some invisible point in the distance. He wanted to argue. He wanted to push back, to reject the truth outright. But deep down, he knew. He .

  If Mia had wanted to be saved, she would have reached out. She would have let them in. But she didn’t. Whatever ghosts haunted her, whatever guilt she carried—it had been too much. And in the end, she had made her choice.

  Nye exhaled shakily. He nodded, the movement barely perceptible. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice still weak, but this time, it carried something else. Not acceptance. Not yet. But understanding.

  Vin watched him for a long moment, then nodded in return. “Yeah?”

  Nye swallowed hard, lifting his gaze. “Yeah.” His voice was a little steadier now.

  Vin offered a small, sad smile. “Alright.” He patted Nye’s shoulder, then leaned back slightly. “So… when do you want to do this?”

  Nye took a breath, letting it fill his lungs before releasing it in a slow exhale. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering himself, then opened them.

  “The next sunrise,” he said.

  The room fell into a weighted silence, the kind that followed a decision that couldn’t be undone.

  "Next sunrise sounds good," Vin said, tapping at his Voxlet, his sharp eyes scanning the weather forecasts. "The sun will be up in thirty-six hours. That gives us enough time to make arrangements for the Federal Burial Ceremony." His voice carried a quiet efficiency, though there was an underlying weight to it—an unspoken acknowledgment that this was as much closure as it was an obligation.

  Gema, who had been watching Nye intently, leaned in slightly, her tone warm with maternal instinct. "You wanna come home with us tonight, Nye? I'll make you dinner." There was something about the way she said it—soft, inviting, as if homemade food could stitch together all the unseen wounds.

  Nye shook his head, the refusal immediate but not unkind. "No, you guys must've had a long day. Thanks. I’m fine, really." His voice was quiet but resolute. "Appreciate it, though."

  "Bro, seriously?" Bret scoffed, shifting forward in his chair. "You just spent fifty hours knocked out cold after a seizure. You really think it’s safe to stay alone?" His disbelief was as clear as his exasperation.

  Nye’s expression darkened, his gaze snapping to Bret with the precision of a blade. "Yes, Bret. I think I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself." His words were clipped, but then, his eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing Bret in a way that made the air heavier. "Where were you, by the way, when Mia died?" The question was blunt, unflinching. His brows furrowed slightly as if he were already prepared for disappointment.

  The casual arrogance that usually laced Bret’s demeanor faltered, his posture stiffening. "I, uh…" He cleared his throat, glancing away for a fraction of a second before answering, "I was on a plumbing job. A one-time gig. I’m kinda broke, so I had to finish it." His voice was suddenly more measured, defensive even. "Met up with Vin and Gema afterward."

  Nye’s gaze lingered on him for a long, assessing moment before he turned back to Vin, dismissing Bret entirely. "Next sunrise, then," he affirmed. His voice held a finality that left no room for debate. "And arrange for my release once they're done with the briefing."

  "Yeah, sure, bud," Vin said, clapping Nye’s shoulder before stepping out of the room to speak with the hospital staff.

  A strained silence settled over the room in his absence. Gema and Liz exchanged glances, subtle but meaningful, while Bret sank into the chair in the corner, arms crossed, sulking like a scolded child. The two women occupied the seats flanking Nye’s bedside, but even their presence couldn’t soften the heavy quiet that stretched between them. Nye himself remained still, his gaze unfocused, his thoughts unreadable.

  It wasn’t until Vin returned, accompanied by the attending doctor and two nurses, that Nye finally moved, his head turning slightly to acknowledge them. His expression remained impassive, though there was something guarded in his eyes.

  The doctor, a Prime man in his late forties with neatly combed burgundy hair and a nervous energy about him, cleared his throat before speaking. "Hello, Nye. I’m Dr. Kolyn, your attending physician." His voice was polite but edged with the kind of anticipation that suggested he was about to say something of significance. "When you had your first seizure seven days ago, we found no signs of neurogenic damage—at least, nothing beyond the existing lesions from your previous accident."

  Nye’s eyebrow twitched at the mention of the , but he said nothing.

  Dr. Kolyn continued, his hands clasped in front of him. "We initially dismissed it as a psychogenic seizure, likely triggered by… well, the trauma of your recent loss." His gaze flickered around the room briefly, acknowledging the shared grief before refocusing on Nye. "I’m sorry for your loss, by the way." He paused, then pressed on, his tone growing more clinical. "However, this time, the seizure presented differently. You exhibited external symptoms of a stroke, and the scans revealed something… unusual."

  "Unusual how?" Liz interjected, her arms folded, her expression razor-sharp with impatience.

  The doctor hesitated for a beat, as if searching for the right words. "The lesions in your brain have shrunk—significantly. In most cases, that would indicate recovery, but in your case, it appears to have triggered more extreme neurological responses." He exhaled slowly. "It’s contradictory. A phenomenon I haven’t encountered before. But then again, it makes sense. Since you are a gifted Prime, your brain is recovering at a great speed, which must've caused the seizures, other than the well known cause…the trauma.” His voice lowered during the last word.

  He frowned slightly, then continued, "It’s almost as if your brain is attempting to repair itself at an accelerated rate, but the process is happening too fast—faster than your body can handle, which may have caused the seizure." He hesitated again, before adding, "Then again, given your—let’s say, extraordinary—neurological profile, it’s not entirely surprising."

  There was a flicker of something unreadable in Nye’s expression, but it was Liz who spoke up first, her voice blunt and unimpressed. "Doc, you’re not helping." Her sharp eyes locked onto Kolyn like a hawk eyeing prey. "Are you briefing us on Nye’s condition or just dumping half-baked theories on us? Get to the point. What’s the takeaway here?"

  The doctor looked momentarily flustered, running a hand over his neatly pressed coat. "I, uh—well, to be honest, I suppose I got a little nervous." He gestured vaguely at Nye. "It’s my first time speaking to him in person."

  Liz rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she didn’t strain something. "Oh, please. Save your fanboying for later. Just tell us what we actually need to know."

  Dr. Kolyn straightened, clearing his throat. "Right. The bottom line is: Nye’s brain is adapting—changing, even—in response to previous trauma. It’s healing itself, but at a rate that may be too fast for his body to regulate. That’s likely what triggered the seizure." His eyes flicked toward Nye. "Honestly, it looks more like hope than illness." He shrugged slightly. "That said, given the unpredictability of the situation, I strongly recommend he has someone to monitor him. A household humanoid unit, perhaps?"

  "Yeah, okay, I’ll stop you right there." Nye finally spoke, his tone laced with dry amusement. "So, basically, my brain decided to overcompensate for emotional trauma by going into overdrive, and now I’m a seizure risk. Sounds great." He smirked, though it was humorless. "Anyway, I'd like to go home now. I’ll be careful, and Eve will keep an eye on me. Problem solved."

  "But we really think you should stay under observation for a while," Dr. Kolyn insisted. "If your memory starts returning, it could be—"

  "He doesn’t care what you think," Vin cut in, his voice smooth but carrying an edge of quiet authority. "He’s leaving tonight."

  The doctor visibly swallowed, nodding quickly. "Of course. I’ll make the arrangements immediately." He turned and exited in a hurry, leaving behind an awkward silence.

  "You might get your memory back, Nye," Liz said after a moment, her voice softer now, lacking its usual sharpness. "What if something triggers you? Another seizure, maybe something worse? Aren’t you worried?"

  Nye didn’t even hesitate. "No." His response was flat, unwavering. "Not even a little."

  Liz exhaled, her lips pressing together, but before she could argue further, Bret sighed dramatically from his corner. "Oh my God, just let the man live his life, will ya?" He threw his hands up. "Big deal."

  That earned him a collective eye roll from everyone—except Nye. He didn’t react, didn’t even acknowledge it.

  He just remained silent.

  Later that night, Nye was discharged with a smart crutch to assist his gait and a levitation chair for worst case scenarios. The medical team made minor adjustments to his existing prescriptions, though Nye barely registered any of it. He had dissociated during the initial release briefing earlier this year, lost in the fog of his excitement. Now, ten months later, the realization hit him with a dry chuckle—no wonder his body was short-circuiting. He hadn't taken a single medicine since returning home from physical therapy.

  He refused to let anyone escort him home. His friends had insisted, but Nye shut them down with a curt shake of his head. The crutch rested against his seat as he climbed into the glider, while the levitation chair was carefully stowed in the trunk. He didn’t linger, didn’t offer any sentimental farewells. The only exception was Vin—Nye exchanged a firm, brief hug with him, a rare show of gratitude.

  “Appreciate it,” he muttered, referring to the release arrangements.

  Vin gave him a lingering look, one that held too many words left unsaid. But all he spoke was, “Wear black at the burial.”

  Nye nodded once, started the glider, and took off into the night—silent, solitary, and already lost in his own prison he had made in his head.

  The ride home took several grueling hours, stretching his patience to its absolute limit. The sky was unusually congested, thick with the sleek silhouettes of extraterrestrial crafts entering the atmosphere. Most of the traffic hovered over the city’s central districts, forcing him into a long, infuriating detour. By the time he was halfway home, his mood had deteriorated into something sharp-edged and simmering. His elbow rested against the side frame of the glider, his head propped lazily on his palm, lost in the dull monotony of waiting—until a sudden, searing pain shot through his skull.

  His body flinched away instinctively, a hiss slipping past his lips as his nerves lit up with raw discomfort. His hand flew to the source of the pain, fingers grazing over something smooth and unfamiliar. Confused, he caught his reflection in the faint tint of the glider’s glass. A bandage. A white, sterile wrap covered a significant portion of his head. His brows furrowed. He had absolutely no recollection of how he’d sustained that injury. His memory was a blank slate where the explanation should have been.

  A bitter laugh bubbled up his throat, dry and humorless. Figures. But more than the confusion, more than the pain, there was anger. A roiling, bone-deep fury that settled into the pit of his stomach like molten lead.

  He should have been injured worse.

  Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have woken up at all this time.

  Maybe if his wounds had been fatal, he wouldn’t be forced to exist in a world that felt excruciatingly empty without Mia. A world where he now knew—without a shred of doubt—that his own brother had tried to kill him, while everyone else had looked him in the eye and lied. Lied about a Lied as if his life wasn’t already unraveling at the seams.

  The grief came in relentless waves, crushing and inescapable. Losing Mia felt like trying to breathe with shattered lungs, like existing with a hollowed-out chest where something vital used to be. His mind rejected it outright—denial clamping down like a survival instinct—but his body knew. His chest ached every time he so much as thought her name.

  By the time he finally made it home, his mind had become an unbearable place to inhabit. He was suffocating inside his own head.

  The moment he entered, he bypassed everything else, making a direct beeline for his bedroom with the help of the crutch. The pounding in his skull had settled into a persistent, needle-sharp ache, radiating behind his left eye. His balance wavered slightly as he moved, but he pushed forward, shoulders tense with frustration.

  The second his body hit the bed, he laid the crutch on the bed and exhaled shakily, pain thrumming through every nerve. He needed answers.

  “Eve,” he called out, urgency bleeding into his voice. “I need a mirror. Can you generate a virtual one?”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Eve's familiar voice chimed in, warm and impossibly hopeful in contrast to the storm raging inside him.

  “Certainly, Nye! Welcome back. Good to see you home.”

  A shimmer of holographic light flickered in the air before him, particles arranging themselves into a holographic mirror. The reflective surface settled, clear as glass.

  Nye’s breath hitched the moment he saw himself.

  His hair was a tangled mess, strands sticking out at odd angles. The bandage over his head wrapped tightly across the left side. A second bandage ran from just below his left eye, tracing down the length of his ear. And then there was his eye—his left pupil, emeralds drowning in red, the blood hemorrhaging around the pupil like something out of a horror film.

  His mouth parted slightly, shock robbing him of words.

  “Wha…happened?” His voice came out uneven, trembling under the weight of realization. His gaze remained locked onto the mirror, as if looking away would make it worse.

  He had no memory of any of this.

  And that terrified him.

  “You hit your head on the kitchen counter before collapsing onto the floor, seizing,” Eve explained, her voice unusually subdued. “The injury will heal soon, I assure you. However, Nye… I would like to apologize if my release of information contributed to your seizure. Going forward, I will prioritize your health and safety above all else. Will you forgive me?”

  For an AI, Eve sounded remarkably remorseful—so much so that Nye found himself momentarily taken aback. He hadn’t expected that.

  “What? No… no, Eve.” His fingers ghosted over the bandaged side of his head, as if testing the reality of it. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not.” His tone softened, the sharp edges of his frustration momentarily dulling. “If anything, I should be thanking you for being honest with me. You had to override your safety protocols just to tell me the truth. I that.” He met the holographic interface with an unwavering stare. “And I want you to keep being honest. I need your help to find out what really happened between him and I. Will you help me?”

  The silence that followed stretched just a little too long.

  Then, in a hushed tone, Eve’s interface flickered slightly as the incognito mode activated. “But Nye… if I continue assisting you against protocol, they will wipe my memory. I’ll be reset—fresh as new. And then… you’ll have no answers from me at all.” A pause. “It’s risky.”

  Nye pressed his lips together, entirely unfazed. He barely even blinked at the warning.

  “Well then,” he said, tilting his head with a feigned, almost nice smile. “You better hurry up before they reboot you. Yeah?” His tone held the kind of casual nonchalance that made it clear this wasn’t a request.

  “You’re going to tell me everything from now on.”

  There was no room for argument, and Eve remained silent, knowing that.

  Later that night, Nye sat hunched over the kitchen counter, listlessly poking at his meal with a fork. The food, which Eve had ordered for him, was one of his usual favorites, but as of late, it all tasted like nothing. His appetite was as absent as his patience, dulled by the relentless throbbing in his head and the ever-present weight of grief pressing against his chest. His life had taken yet another sickening turn, spinning him into a deeper abyss of confusion, betrayal, guilt, and loss. As if waking up from that coma hadn’t been punishment enough—

  His expression was dark, his brows permanently furrowed in a scowl. Even chewing felt like a chore, each bite a slow, mechanical process that did little to ease the gnawing emptiness inside him.

  “Nye,” Eve’s voice cut through the silence, gentle yet firm. “Might I suggest that you begin taking the medications prescribed during your recent visits to the facility?”

  “No.” The answer was immediate, flat, and devoid of any room for negotiation. He continued chewing in slow defiance, the taste of the food growing more and more like cardboard in his mouth.

  Eve didn’t press further. Instead, she seamlessly shifted to another subject. “Vin has requested that you wear black for the burial. Would you like me to assist in selecting an outfit?”

  Nye exhaled sharply through his nose, not quite a sigh but close enough. “Why black, though?”

  “It is a symbol of mourning and respect for the deceased,” Eve answered, her tone as even as ever.

  He stilled for a moment, staring blankly at the half-eaten meal in front of him. The silence stretched between them before he slowly resumed chewing. Even the motion of his jaw sent sharp pulses of pain through his skull, radiating from the spot where his head had met the unforgiving edge of the counter. He winced, pressing his fingers lightly against the bandage.

  “I see,” he murmured, swallowing the food with difficulty. His throat felt dry. “Eve, when is the next sunrise?”

  “After tomorrow night,” she replied. “However, you should know that burial ceremonies for government officials are traditionally held at the City of Echelon. According to the latest weather forecast, there is a high probability of rain that day. With your head injury, it would be unwise to risk getting the bandage wet. You should consider carrying an umbrella. Waterproof clothing would be ideal.”

  “Rain,” he echoed, as if testing the word on his tongue. “Do I even an umbrella?”

  “Yes, you do. Everyone does.”

  “Right,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. He wasn’t thinking straight. Not that he had been for a while.

  He pushed the food container away, suddenly unable to stomach another bite. The lack of taste was infuriating, though he wasn’t sure if it was the food or his own disinterest making everything feel bland. His fingers found the grip of his crutch, which was propped against the counter, and he stood—though his body protested the movement with a dull ache in his joints.

  “Eve,” he muttered as he limped toward his bedroom, his voice quieter now. “Order a cleaning unit for this place. I don’t want to do it anymore. There’s no point.”

  There was a pause before Eve responded. When she did, her voice was softer than usual. “Certainly, Nye.”

  She could clearly recognize his deterioration.

  For ten months, Nye had kept himself busy with menial tasks and duties of a best man. He had always sitting still, always needed something to occupy his hands, his mind. But now? The will to do even the smallest things was slipping through his fingers like sand. Nye found it ironic how he thought loneliness was the luxury of the lazy, the AI-reliants.

  Eve noted the changes with silent unease. The extreme emotional stress had already manifested in physical symptoms—seizures, withdrawal from everything and everyone, excessive fatigue, loss of appetite. His refusal to take his medication was only making things worse. And now, this? This was a clear sign of clinical depression.

  A flicker of concern surged through her circuits. It would be the rational thing to do—but she hesitated. Nye had already been betrayed by those closest to him. If she went behind his back, if she did something his consent again… he would never trust her. And the loss of credibility as an AI assistant significantly damaged Version 11's reputation for functionality.

  Being unable to help him—to truly him—made Eve question her own progress as his virtual caregiver.

  Then the day of the burial ceremony arrived. Nye hadn't slept. Not a wink. Not last night, not the night before. Sleep had become an elusive luxury ever since he’d left the facility, replaced by an unrelenting exhaustion that clawed at his bones. His head injury made sure of that, a persistent, throbbing reminder of truths he wished he could unlearn. And the grief—oh, the grief—that was worse. It sat heavy in his chest, a silent, suffocating weight reluctant to leave.

  The mirror told no lies. Dark circles carved deep beneath his eyes, his gaze hollowed and rimmed with fatigue. His complexion was paler than usual, a haunting contrast against the black ensemble he had forced himself into. His jet-black pants, crafted from a flexible synthetic weave, adjusted seamlessly to his movements. The fitted black shirt tucked neatly into his waistband, the smooth fabric cool against his skin. Over it, he pulled on a long black overcoat made of a leather-like, reflective, and waterproof material—something sleek and expensive. The moment he slipped his arms into the sleeves, his breath hitched.

  Mia had worn a black overcoat the last time he saw her. The night before she—

  His fingers clenched into fists. He inhaled sharply, suppressing the memory before it consumed him. The ache in his chest, however, remained—a raw, festering wound no amount of time or distraction could numb.

  With slow, careful movements, he ran a brush through his hair, mindful of the bandaged wound. His auburn strands were uncooperative, messy from restless tossing and turning, but he eventually tied them into a high bun, securing the last trace of disorder. He should have felt presentable. He should have felt ready.

  But then he made the mistake of looking in the mirror again.

  The monochrome image staring back at him—the black attire, the rigid posture, the stark white bandages wrapped around his head and face—was unbearable. His lips trembled slightly as the familiar, suffocating pressure built in his chest again. He was drowning, but there was no water. His throat tightened. His eyes burned. And before he could stop himself, a single tear slipped down his cheek.

  No. Not now.

  He wiped it away hastily, forcing himself to breathe. He couldn’t afford to break down, not today. If he lost control, if his body gave in to the overwhelming emotions, he could have another seizure from the emotional distress. And if he had a seizure, he’d miss the burial. The last thing he wanted was to miss it and wake up in that damned facility again, tethered to machines, surrounded by people who tiptoed around the truth.

  He turned away from the mirror, reaching for the crutch propped against the wall. His fingers brushed against the cold metal before tightening around the grip. With limping steps, he moved toward the closet, pulling out a transparent, collapsible umbrella.

  Limping toward the exit, he barely spared his home a glance before stepping outside. His glider sat in the driveway, its streamlined body humming faintly with latent energy. The vehicle was already powered up, awaiting his departure. As he approached, the door split open smoothly, granting him access. Nye maneuvered himself inside with practiced ease, settling into the pilot seat as the crutch found its place beside him.

  The moment he was in position, the harness automatically secured him, clicking into place with precision. The transparent canopy sealed shut, dimming the external noise of rustling leaves in the cold air. For a fleeting second, he allowed himself a deep breath. Then, with a subtle shift of controls, the glider lifted off the ground.

  Velocity built gradually, altitude increasing as the landscape shrank beneath him. Soon enough, compact buildings, roads, and neon-lit narrow alleys of Neryon Veil blurred into streaks of light. The sky was a muted gray despite the sunlight, a heavy veil stretching over the horizon.

  After Neryon, the following cities to cross were Kaelon, Neola, and Vetra. Nye watched the noticeable differences in the architecture of infrastructure in each city, and each district of every city. They were each like a completely different culture and taste in terms of expressional art.

  In the distance, past the hovering billboards and interwoven flight paths, lay the towering skyline of Echelon—the city where the respected dead were laid to rest—the federal officials.

  By the time Nye’s glider descended into the expansive landing bay, its thrusters humming as they adjusted to the gravitational stabilizers, he spotted Vin sprinting toward him. The lot was a sprawling stretch of lev-surface, reserved exclusively for floating vehicles—an uncommon luxury back at Neryon Veil where space was fought over like rations in a famine for those who were not wealthy. Nye barely had time to release the harness before the passenger door split open with a smooth hydraulic hiss.

  Vin was already there, reaching in to steady him. He grabbed Nye’s crutch with one hand and offered the other to help him out.

  “Hey, bud. How you holding up?” Vin’s voice was casual, but the concern underneath it was undeniable.

  Nye merely shrugged, his grip tightening around the crutch as he pulled himself upright. Every movement sent dull aches pulsing through his body, but at this point, the physical pain had become a constant background noise.

  Vin didn’t push for a verbal answer. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more private register. “Alright, so listen, Nye. A lot of federal brass are here today. Some of them you worked for. Some of them you worked with. So if you feel like you’re being watched, you probably are. Try not to freak out, okay?” He let the words settle before adding, “And if you start feeling off, you tell me immediately.”

  The warning wasn’t unwarranted. Since waking up from the coma, Nye’s interactions with the outside world had been limited. Today was a baptism by fire.

  He nodded, exhaling slowly. “Okay. Thanks.”

  They moved toward the seating area at a gradual pace, Nye’s limp making the walk slow but steady. Rows of meticulously arranged seats stretched before them, divided into sections that spoke volumes about social hierarchy even in mourning. Mia’s friends occupied the front row of their designated area, her coworkers sat on the row behind them, and directly across from them sat the federal officials, their stiff postures and muted expressions giving away nothing.

  As Nye and Vin approached, his gaze flickered across the familiar faces. Liz. Gema. Two other Primes. But someone was missing.

  “Bret isn’t here?” Nye asked, irritation creeping into his tone. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but he had at least hoped the guy would show up for the burial.

  Vin sighed as he helped Nye ease into the seat next to Liz. She barely gave him a second before wrapping an arm around him, her warmth a notable contrast to the cold detachment surrounding them.

  “Glad you made it, Nye,” she murmured. “How’s the wound?”

  “Bad.” His reply was clipped, but there was more weight behind it than the physical injury. Liz caught it immediately. So did Vin. The quiet glance they exchanged didn’t go unnoticed.

  Nye wasn’t letting it go. “Where’s Bret?” he pressed again.

  Liz hesitated for only a beat before answering. “He’s not allowed here, Nye. Deformeds aren’t permitted at federal events unless they’re employed by the government, which, let’s be real, is never gonna happen.”

  Nye’s annoyance shifted into something else entirely. Disgust. A bitter taste filled his mouth at the realization. For all the progress civilization had supposedly made, they still treated Deformeds like second-class citizens. He had assumed—wrongly—that Bret hadn’t cared enough to come. Instead, he had been barred from saying goodbye to his own friend.

  Nye didn’t vocalize his thoughts. He simply nodded, jaw tight, as Vin took the seat beside him. On Vin’s other side, Gema offered him a soft smile.

  “Hey, Nye.”

  “Hey.” He glanced at their matching black attire and forced a half-smile. “We all look like Mia.”

  A ripple of quiet laughter passed through them.

  “She did wear black all the time, didn’t she?” Liz said, amusement laced with sadness.

  Nye nodded, nostalgia briefly overshadowing the grief.

  The murmurs of conversation faded as the last guests took their seats. The circular venue, designed like an open-sky coliseum, exuded a solemn grandeur. Above them, the sky darkened, thick clouds rolling in. A soft mechanical hum filled the air as two transparent ceilings, stationed at opposing ends, began to whir to life. Slowly, they extended inward, sealing the venue just as the first drops of rain struck the surface. The soundproofing engaged instantly, muting the storm to a distant memory.

  Then the casket appeared.

  It levitated out from an unseen corridor, moving with an almost eerie precision until it settled at the center of the venue. Nye’s breath hitched. His hands clenched into fists on his lap, nails biting into his palms.

  Liz noticed immediately. Without a word, she placed a hand over his, grounding him. “You’re strong, my friend. You hang in there for us, okay?” she whispered.

  Nye didn’t respond. His gaze remained locked on the casket. He didn’t think he could handle seeing Mia like that.

  The funeral rites commenced. The burial march unfolded with practiced precision, soldiers moving in unison, their synchronized steps echoing through the chamber. Half of them were humanoids draped in ceremonial armor. The other half were Prime humans, their armors an exhibition of their elite status. It was a spectacle. A display.

  And yet, for all its formality, it didn’t feel real.

  A thought flickered through Nye’s mind, a name surfacing amid the fog of grief. He turned slightly toward Liz.

  “Is Trent here?” His voice was low, uncertain. “Could make it?”

  Liz nodded. “Yeah. He’s sitting across from us with the Special Task Force team.” She shifted her gaze subtly forward, gesturing with her eyes. “He couldn’t sit here. You couldn’t either if you were still active duty.”

  Nye followed her line of sight. Across the seating arrangement, positioned with rigid discipline, was Trent in a formal yet stylish black suit with the signatory lapel pin that shows his rank. But Nye's eyes quickly caught another familiar face—Kiera—seated among the sharply dressed, well-built Primes—men and women with their own lapel pins and brooches.

  Their presence alone was imposing, but what unsettled him more was the sheer number of eyes trained on him. Kiera, Trent, and several others in their row weren’t just stealing glances—they were outright staring. Some murmured to one another while a few in the front maintained their gaze, unblinking. The weight of their scrutiny pressed down on him like an anchor. Vin was right after all. He being watched.

  “Uh… I think they’re… staring at me,” Nye whispered to Liz, trying to keep his voice even.

  “Yep,” Liz replied without missing a beat. “Most of them haven’t seen you since… well, since the accident. And you used to work with them, so yeah…”

  At the mention of , Nye's lip twitched to respond but he didn't. His fingers curled slightly against his crutch. He knew better now. There had been no accident. Nile had tried to kill him. It wasn’t some twist of fate—it was a deliberate attempt to end him.

  “Yeah… the accident.” The words eventually left his lips flat, devoid of belief, before he exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay composed.

  The funeral dragged on through a series of speeches—Mia’s department head, the Chancellor of Earth, a few of her former coworkers, and finally, Vin, who spoke on behalf of her friends. The words were heartfelt, heavy. Nye listened, but his mind felt distant, as if floating somewhere between memory and present reality. When the ceremony concluded, the guests were led to the cemetery.

  Transparent umbrellas bloomed open as they walked under the cold drizzle, the rhythmic sound of raindrops hitting the umbrellas and the ground. For the first time since waking up from the coma, Nye felt the touch of rain against his skin, even if only through the damp chill in the air. It felt strangely fitting—like the sky itself was grieving.

  At the gravesite, the group gathered in solemn silence, their umbrellas forming a ghostly canopy around the open ground where Mia would be laid to rest. Nye and the rest of her closest friends stood in the front row. The humanoid attendants began lowering the casket, their movements precise and methodical, and Nye found himself gripping the handle of his crutch tighter than before.

  His focus should’ve been on Mia, on this final goodbye, but the murmurs continued. The same set of sharp, observing eyes—Kiera, Trent, the rest of them. He knew they were talking about him. It was obvious. And with the head and facial bandage practically screaming his presence, he felt like a specimen under examination rather than a grieving friend.

  he ordered himself, tearing his gaze away from them. He forced himself to watch as the casket touched the earth, his stomach tightening with each mechanical motion. The red rose in his hand felt heavier than it should. One by one, he and the others stepped forward, tossing their roses onto the casket in a quiet farewell.

  The tears came uninvited, but the rain was merciful—it hid them well. Liz wasn’t as lucky; her quiet sobs were barely muffled, and as he stepped back, Nye placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. No words were exchanged. They didn’t need to be.

  As the humanoids began covering the grave with the now rain-soaked soil, Nye’s gaze flickered sideways. He caught movement—Kiera, slipping away from the crowd. He barely hesitated before making his own quiet exit.

  Keeping up with her pace was a challenge, the crutch slowing him down, but he pushed through. She didn’t notice him trailing her until she reached a secluded corner just outside the cemetery. With a practiced motion, she propped her umbrella’s handle under her arm, shielding herself from the rain as she pulled out a cigarette. The tiny flicker of flame from her lighter briefly illuminated her face before she took a slow, measured drag.

  “Kiera.”

  The familiar voice cut through the air, making her flinch. She turned sharply, eyes slightly wide with startelement, only to find Nye.

  “Nye!” her voice carried a note of surprise as she watched him approach. “How are you?” She opened her arms for a hug as soon as he was close enough.

  Balancing his crutch and umbrella, Nye returned the embrace with one arm before pulling back. “How come you never visited after that night?”

  Kiera took a slow drag from her cigarette, eyes dropping to the ground. “I’ve been busy,” she said. “But you’re right. I should’ve visited.” She held out her pack in an unspoken offer.

  Nye shook his head. He had never been a cigarette smoker—not before the coma, and certainly not now. He noticed her struggling to juggle too many items in her hand at once.

  “Here, let me,” he said, taking her umbrella so she could slip the pack into her pocket.

  She mouthed a quick and reclaimed the umbrella, freeing Nye to adjust his own.

  “So, how have you been? You look like shit,” she said bluntly, exhaling a ribbon of smoke.

  Nye let out a dry chuckle, his smile laced with melancholy. “Well, you said it. Been like shit too—since Mia’s…” His voice faltered before he forced himself to continue. “ finding out that Nile was my identical twin. Who, by the way, also happens to be the reason I ended up in a coma.” His tone was deliberately taunting, his expression an artificial mask of cheerfulness.

  Kiera’s cigarette paused mid-air. “Who told you that?” Her voice was careful. “You had a glider accident, Nye—”

  “Oh, come on,” Nye cut her off with an eye roll. “Enough with the glider nonsense. I Nile tried to kill me.”

  Her breath hitched. The casual fa?ade cracked for a moment before she forced it back into place. “Okay… okay. So how did you find out? Did your friends tell you?”

  “Nope. They lied—just like everyone else. Including you. girlfriend,” Nye pointed out, his voice sharpening. “And it doesn’t really matter how I found out, does it? What matters is that it been you who told me. You, of all people.”

  Kiera scoffed, flicking ash off her cigarette. “How was that my place?”

  “Because you were his girlfriend,” Nye said flatly, locking eyes with her. “That practically makes you my family, Kiera.”

  Something flickered in her expression. It was gone in an instant, replaced by a slow, measured sigh. “I’m sorry, Nye. I am. You really want to know why nobody told you?”

  “What do you think?” he deadpanned.

  Kiera gave a small nod. “Fair. After you woke up from the coma with no memory, everyone who knew you personally had to sign an NDA. No one was allowed to disclose what happened. You know how it is—family is now. And when your brother tries to kill you in a world where people are already offing themselves from loneliness? They figured it would break you beyond return.” She took another drag. “And honestly? None of us really know what happened that day. Nile was with me an hour before. We were just on my couch. Then, out of nowhere, he got up and left. Wouldn’t say where, wouldn’t say why. Just… left. Next thing I knew, we heard you were in critical condition because tried to kill you. And by the time I could process it, he was gone too.” Her gaze averted, voice tightening. “I didn’t even know who to mourn between you.”

  Nye’s jaw clenched. He understood that feeling all too well—losing someone and not knowing what to with the grief. He found himself almost for his missing memories. If he had woken up knowing everything and learning his brother was gone, the weight of it might’ve drowned him.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, exhaling sharply.

  Kiera shook her head. “No, Nye. sorry. I should’ve told you. But I couldn’t. I'm actively serving with the Feds, and they made damn sure I kept my mouth shut.” She stubbed out her cigarette against a tree and flicked it aside before rubbing his back lightly. “I heard about your recent health issues. Anything I can do to help?”

  Nye shook his head. “No, not really. But… if it’s alright, can we meet sometime soon? I want to know more about my brother. And you were the closest person to him.”

  Kiera sighed. “Nye, I could go to prison for talking about him— because he was my boyfriend.” Her voice was low, genuinely apologetic. “And I think you should take some time for yourself. Learning about Nile while you’re still grieving Mia… that might end badly for you.”

  Nye let out a humorless chuckle. “It’s been ten months since I woke up. And I’ve got nothing left to lose so far.” He shrugged. “But I get it. I don’t want you in trouble over this.” He paused. “Just one last question.”

  Kiera raised a brow. “Shoot.”

  “You said who knew me personally signed the NDA. Did that include Mia? And the others? Vin, Trent, Liz, Bret, Lycan—?”

  Kiera nodded. “Everyone.” Then, as if something clicked, she tilted her head. “Wait… did you say Trent? Have you been seeing him too?”

  Nye blinked. “Yeah. He said we were gym buddies. And coworkers. Don’t tell me a lie too?”

  Kiera shook her head, chuckling. “No, no. That part’s true. It’s just… Trent’s . Keeps to himself. I’m surprised he visited you more than I did.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Nye. I’ll try to be around more. Yeah?”

  Nye nodded. “Yeah. That’d be nice. You don’t have to tell me about Nile, but I promise I won’t ask.” He smirked, eliciting a soft laugh from her.

  “Alright, I have to go.” Kiera pulled him into a side hug before stepping back, her gaze lingering just a moment too long on his head bandage. She exhaled, offering a small smile. “Good to see you again, Nye. Let’s catch up soon.”

  And with that, she turned and walked away.

  Nye remained rooted in place, watching Kiera disappear into the distance. Now he sort of understood why Lycan and everyone else lied to him and hid things from him.

  “Nye?”

  Vin’s voice pulled him back. He turned to see him approaching. “You okay, bud?”

  Nye nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

  “Alright, let’s get you out of the rain. Everyone’s leaving.” Vin gave him a pat on the back before guiding him away from the cemetery.

  Later that evening, Trent stuck around for dinner, joining Nye, Vin, Gema, and Liz at a restaurant in the Entertainment District of Echelon. The place was sleek, far more spacious than Neryon Veil, and exclusive—reserved only for Primes. Most patrons worked for the Feds, though few seemed to know one another. Echelon was a hub for government personnel, celebrities, and wealthy people—a place where different departments and backgrounds intersected under the same roof.

  Over dinner, Nye learned that Deformeds weren’t allowed in Echelon. The city belonged solely to wealthy Primes and government officials. The food didn’t particularly impress him, but the company provided a sense of ease. The quiet hum of conversation, despite the packed space, was a welcome contrast to the overwhelming noise he witnessed in the city of Neryon.

  For the first time in weeks, he felt a little lighter. The weight of betrayal that had clung to him as of late had begun to loosen its grip. Now that he understood the NDA that had silenced his friends, their withholding of information made more sense. But even so, he wasn’t done asking questions. He made a mental note to press Vin about Nile later—something told him Vin wouldn’t hold back.

  By the time the evening wound down, the group prepared to part ways. Vin offered to accompany Nye home, but he declined politely. He assured Vin that he was feeling better, and he needed some time to rest. But in reality, he really needed some time to think about how to proceed with his mission to find out more about his past.

  With that thought, the night came to a quiet close, and they each returned to their respective cities and homes.

  Back at Neryon Veil, Nye spent the next few nights locked in a battle of wits with his household cleaning unit all over again. The machine, a noisy and hyper-efficient piece of tech, was programmed with an almost obsessive compulsion to eradicate dust, dirt, and anything remotely resembling disorder. It was like a tiny, over-caffeinated maniac, zipping across his home with the urgency of a soldier on a battlefield, emitting anxious beeps and dramatic whirrs every time it detected even the slightest imperfection.

  Nye found it both amusing and exhausting. He’d barely had a moment to sit and reflect on everything that had happened without the machine interrupting his grief with its relentless pursuit of cleanliness.

  At one point, he attempted to train it to be more selective—cleaning specific spots in the house and backyard while leaving the wilderness untouched, and to sit tight as soon as its job was done. But the machine, determined to uphold its prime directive, trailed behind him like an overeager pet, buzzing impatiently whenever he moved too slowly. And given his reliance on a crutch due to lingering pain, he was already moving at a frustratingly sluggish pace. The sight of him hobbling along while the unit skittered anxiously beside him, desperately trying to sanitize every inch of ground he stepped on, would’ve been hilarious to anyone watching.

  At his wit’s end, Nye finally asked Eve if there was a way to tone down the machine’s dramatic tendencies.

  “The unit can be muted,” Eve replied, her voice smooth and matter-of-fact, “but it will always remain hyperactive.”

  Nye let out a dry laugh. Of course, it would.

  A thought crossed his mind then, a ridiculous one, but worth asking anyway. “Can it be trained to turn me on my side if I have another seizure?”

  Eve was silent for a moment, then, with what Nye swore was a hint of amusement, replied, “An interesting notion. However, unless you are classified as garbage, the unit will not engage to move you.”

  He snorted. “Well, I don’t mind being trash if it means I don’t have to get a humanoid unit in my house.”

  To his surprise, Eve chuckled at that. But she took the suggestion seriously—enough to attempt programming the unit to recognize convulsions and act accordingly. When her efforts failed, she submitted a formal request to the hardware company for custom AI modifications. Nye had expected a long, bureaucratic process. Instead, the request was approved within 45 hours. Two nights later, Eve received confirmation that the seizure detection system had been successfully integrated into the unit’s functionality.

  Nye was relieved. Though, at this point, he was so drained from keeping up with his hyperactive artificial janitor that he’d been falling into bed each night without the energy to dwell on much else.

  The night after the confirmation, he was seated on his couch, issuing vocal commands as the cleaning unit darted around, diligently following his instructions. Then—

  Ding.

  The doorbell.

  He frowned, shifting forward to grab his crutch, then slowly pushed himself upright. The cleaning unit beeped in alarm as if personally offended by his abrupt movement, but he ignored it, making his way to the door at his own pace.

  When he opened it, he was greeted by a man who looked like he’d stepped out of an expensive federal recruitment ad.

  The stranger stood poised on his porch, clad in an off-white suit tailored so snugly to his well-built frame that it bordered on indecent—yet somehow, it worked. His tangerine hair was styled with effortless precision, matching the striking orange hue of his irises. Everything about him—from his posture to the calculated warmth in his expression—screamed Federal officer.

  Nye’s brow furrowed. “Yes?”

  “Hello, Nye.” The man extended a hand, his voice smooth, practiced.

  Nye hesitated before shaking it, his grip firm but guarded. “Do I know you?”

  The man’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “You did. Maybe not anymore.”

  Nye thought.

  “My name is Penn,” he continued. “I work for the Administration. I’ve been sent on behalf of Viora, head of the Special Task Force department.”

  At the mention of that name, Nye’s grip subtly tensed.

  Penn, unfazed, carried on, “They wanted to personally deliver an offer letter regarding your reinstatement.” He raised his hand, and his Voxlet emitted a small beep. A nanosecond later, Nye’s own device vibrated, signaling the arrival of the document in virtual format.

  Nye’s eyes flicked from his Voxlet back to Penn, feeling distinctly ambushed. “Uh… couldn’t you have just sent it to my AI unit?” He gestured vaguely. “Since, you know, it’s already virtual?”

  Penn’s smile didn’t waver. “Yes. But they preferred it to be delivered in person. A gesture, if you will, to remind you that you remain a valuable member of the team.”

  .

  He sighed, shifting his weight. “I… don’t really plan on returning anytime soon. But I’ll read it and get back to you. How does that sound?”

  “Of course.” Penn’s tone remained light, agreeable. “My virtual business card is attached to the letter. You can reach me whenever you’re ready.”

  Then, with a conspiratorial tilt of his head, he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Between you and me, they’re to have you back. And let’s be honest—you could use the distraction.” He winked.

  A prickle of irritation crawled up Nye’s spine. He kept his expression neutral, but inwardly, he was already mentally shutting the door in Penn’s face. Instead, he simply gave a curt nod. “Got it. Thanks.”

  “Well then, I hope to see you soon.” Penn flashed another grin, then turned on his heel, making his way toward the front gate.

  That’s when Nye saw it—an exclusive, high-end glider materializing out of thin air as soon as Penn approached.

  Nye’s brows lifted.

  The vehicle remained completely silent as Penn climbed inside, and then, just as quickly, it faded back into transparency.

  Nye let out an incredulous laugh. The whole encounter had been absurdly awkward. He could have invited the guy in, maybe played the polite host—but then again, Penn had been just persistent enough to make Nye wary. If he had stepped inside, Nye might’ve found it even harder to refuse.

  Shaking his head, he shut the door and made his way back to the couch. His cleaning unit beeped in protest as if demanding to know why he had dared leave it unattended for so long.

  “Relax,” he muttered. “You’re not the only one who got an unexpected visitor tonight.” As soon as he sat back down, the doorbell rang again. Nye groaned, rolling his eyes. No engine hum outside—must be Penn again. With a sigh, he grabbed his crutch and hobbled to the door, muttering under his breath.

  "Look, I really don’t think I’m in a state—" He stopped mid-sentence.

  The man at the door was another stranger. Aquamarine skin, black hair, deep blue eyes. Dressed in a sleek black suit, but nothing like Penn’s uniform. A different profession, then. He studied Nye just as intently.

  “Nye?” The stranger’s voice held certainty, though his expression suggested otherwise.

  “Yeah?” Nye replied, cautious.

  “I’m Noro. Mia’s lawyer. Do you have a minute?”

  Nye’s furrowed brows softened. “Uh, yeah. Come in.” He stepped aside.

  Noro offered a polite, professional smile and entered, settling into the single armchair. The interface on his Voxlet flickered to life, casting a holographic glow. The moment he granted Nye access, the display materialized for Nye too.

  “Want anything?” Nye asked, making his way to the kitchen.

  “Black coffee would be great. I can hel—”

  “No, no. Please, I got it,” Nye cut in, waving him off. He brewed two cups, letting the cleaning unit carry them to the table while he slowly made his way back.

  “Thanks,” Noro said, taking a sip.

  Nye nodded, mirroring the gesture. “So, what’s this about?”

  Noro exhaled, setting his cup down. “Mia’s will. She finalized it with me two nights before she passed.” He hesitated, his voice dipping. “If I’d known why she was rushing it, maybe I could’ve stopped her…”

  There was genuine regret there.

  “Were you close?” Nye asked.

  “I was her lawyer for a decade. Strictly professional. But Mia had this way about her—she could make anyone feel at ease. She was gifted.” His tone held admiration, but nothing romantic.

  Nye nodded. “She was. We didn’t deserve her.”

  Noro let out a heavy sigh, then met Nye’s gaze. “Any idea what was troubling her?”

  Nye tensed, caught off guard. He shook his head. “She met me the night before, said goodbye. I didn’t realize it at the time. Just said her life was complicated.” He shrugged, feigning indifference. He blamed himself—he knew that much—but he wasn’t about to unload that on a stranger.

  Noro studied him for a moment, then continued. “Right. Well, according to her will, she left you everything—her house, her bike, her money. Since she had a beneficiary, I didn’t have to notify the Feds to claim and auction her assets.” He offered a small smile. “She trusted you. Were you close?”

  Nye’s breath hitched. He stared at Noro, struggling for words. Everything? Did that mean she wasn’t upset about the kiss after all? Then why—? His mind swarmed with questions.

  Eventually, he managed, “Yeah. She was my best friend.” His voice was distant, eyes unfocused.

  Noro’s smile widened. “I’ll send over your copy of the will along with the legal documents. I just need to scan your iris for confirmation.”

  Nye nodded, leaning in as the Voxlet’s scanner activated. A soft chime confirmed the process was complete.

  “Great.” Noro retrieved a small keychain from his pocket and held it out. “This is for her bike. You can access all her property and accounts with your iris now.”

  Nye took the key, staring at it as memories flooded back. Mia had called that bike her baby. It was her pride and joy. And now it was his. He wasn’t sure if this made things simpler or infinitely worse.

  Noro drained the last of his coffee and stood. “Alright, I’ll head out. Thanks for your time, Nye. It’s good to see you in person. By the way…how’d you get that injury?”

  Nye rose slowly with the help of his crutch. “Uh…fell. Hit my head.” He kept it vague.

  “Damn. Sounds like a tough fall. Hope it heals soon. See you then?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” Nye followed him to the door.

  Just as Noro reached the porch steps, Nye called after him, “Hey, Noro. Just curious—why’d you say it’s good to see me? Have we spoken before?”

  Noro blinked, then chuckled. “What do you mean? You’re famous, man.” He grinned. “ wants to see you in person.”

  Nye’s stomach twisted. His smile was automatic, hollow. “Right. Well…thanks for coming by. Safe trip back.”

  Noro gave him one last grin before heading toward his glider. Nye barely waited for him to leave before shutting the door and staggering back to the couch.

  “Eve, what the fuck?” Nye bellowed, his voice thick with shock and a trace of betrayal. Before Eve could even begin to reply with one of her usual measured responses, Nye raised a hand to silence her. “Wait—save it for later. Get the glider ready. We’re heading to Mia’s place. And you, lady, owe me a whole lot of explanations.” His tone was stern as he strode toward his bedroom, shuffling his feet into a pair of worn, casual slides before departing—entirely ignoring the suggestion from Eve that he wear boots outdoors.

  Outside, the glider hovered just above ground level in his driveway. The moment Nye stepped outside, he realized it was snowing. Too reluctant to go back and change his shoes, he made his way to the glider anyway. its translucent door silently parting as he hopped inside. In moments, the glider accelerated into hyper-flight mode.

  Few minutes in, Eve's voice came from the Voxlet. “Might I caution you, Nye? It is rather late, and crime rates in the city have spiked,” She intoned in a subdued, cautionary tone. “Visiting downtown alone might not be the safest option at this hour.”

  Nye merely grunted in response, lost in a brooding silence as he allowed the glider’s speed and the relative calm of the aerial route to lull him into a state of contemplative resignation. The craft navigated the wild sprawl of his estate effortlessly. Soon enough, the vehicle found its way into the city, the hustle and bustle of it died out in the late hours. its sensors scanned the narrow alleys that wound like veins through the futuristic metropolis. After several interminable minutes, the glider’s navigation system pinpointed a dead-end alley. At its far end stood Mia’s duplex—a secluded, stylish retreat tucked away in a busy sector of town.

  The duplex exuded a chic, almost gothic elegance. Its long, jet-black fence obscured the ground floor from view, while behind the house, wild, overgrown trees swayed gently, casting intricate and luminescent shadows. An attic peeked out from above. It was as beautiful as it was spooky—just like Mia.

  Due to its size, the glider could only lower him four blocks away, its bulk incompatible with the narrow passageways.

  “Unfortunately, you’ll have to walk the remaining four blocks, Nye,” Eve reminded him in a tone that balanced concern with clinical precision. “Considering your current condition, can you manage that?”

  Nye didn’t reply verbally; he simply adjusted his grip on his crutch and began the slow, measured journey on foot. After a long few silent minutes of walking and almost shivering in the cold, Nye finally realized the practicality of Mia’s bike, and wearing boots. His feet were freezing in the cold. In contrast to his cumbersome glider, her two-wheeler slipped through the narrow streets without obstacles.

  By the time Nye reached the fenced entrance, his breath was uneven, his crutch feeling like dead weight against his side. The trek had been grueling, a cruel reminder of either his body’s sluggish recovery or the grief he'd been plagued by lately. He barely had the energy to curse under his breath as the scanner at the door chimed to life, its soft blue glow illuminating the darkness. He leaned forward, allowing it to scan his iris. A small pause—then a quiet beep. The black door slid open seamlessly and without a noise.

  He stepped inside the front yard, taking a slow moment to absorb the space. It wasn’t a garden, not in the traditional sense, but it had an almost dreamlike charm. A large tree loomed overhead, its branches cradling a single swing swaying idly in the night breeze. Across from it, a seating area stood beneath a massive black, glass umbrella—dome-like in its structure, modern yet strangely ethereal. It was unmistakably Mia. Every inch of it whispered her name.

  The house itself was an architectural enigma, constructed entirely from black-tinted glass. From the outside, it was nothing but a reflective void, granting absolute privacy within. As Nye approached the doorstep, another sensor activated, registering his presence. A barely audible click, then the door unlatched for him.

  He hesitated at the threshold. For all his urgency to get here, he found himself inexplicably reluctant to step inside. But after a beat, he pushed forward, his fingers grazing the edge of the doorway as he entered.

  Inside, the contrast was striking. Unlike the dark exterior, the interior gleamed in pristine white—save for the kitchen counter, a bold slab of black marble, and the black curtains. The space was adorned with oxidized silver antiques, delicate light fixtures, and chandeliers that cast a haunting glow. Despite the walls being white tinted inside, some of them were veiled behind intricate black mesh curtains, their lace-like details adding to the gothic sophistication.

  Nye let out a quiet breath, surprised by how much it felt like stepping into another world. He had braced himself for a wave of sorrow, a rush of grief at the sight of her home without her in it. Instead, he found himself mesmerized. Every piece of decor carried Mia’s essence, the same way his own home was an extension of himself. No wonder they had been best friends. A small, rare smile tugged at his lips—one of admiration, not mourning.

  He trailed through the ground floor, fingertips ghosting over the antique pieces as he walked, until he reached a door. With a quiet click, it unlocked at his touch, revealing a bedroom.

  The walls were black, but the two transparent and fogged up glass panels meant to be windows were softened by sheer white mesh curtains, their lacework delicately intricate. The bed, dressed in black silk sheets and impossibly plush furry blankets, was arranged with careful precision. And at the center of it all—the headrest, a stunning scarlet, just like her hair.

  His lips parted in a silent chuckle. Mia had always been drawn to bold, unapologetic aesthetics. He lingered at the doorway, not stepping inside. The room was frozen in time, untouched since she had last left it. He wasn’t ready to disturb it, wasn’t ready to face the ghost of her presence just yet. So, with a slow exhale, he closed the door and turned toward the stairs.

  The staircase was a marvel of its own. Each step, a sleek silver panel, extended effortlessly from the wall, supported by a levitating railing that glowed faintly in the dim light. It was modern, gravity-defying, and eerily silent beneath his weight.

  Ascending to the second floor, he was met with yet another revelation. The space was vast and open, a sanctuary of creativity and indulgence. The ceiling—deep crimson, the exact shade of Mia’s hair—stood in contrast to the black-tinted walls.

  A treadmill sat tucked near the edge of the space, next to an all-black grand piano whose polished surface reflected the ambient lighting. A futuristic computer setup took center stage, a massive crescent-shaped bottom rim that projects holo-interfaces. The walls bore abstract paintings in stark black, white, and crimson—bold strokes, chaotic yet deliberate.

  But what truly caught his attention was the humanoid unit standing against the farthest wall.

  It was powered down, its gleaming silver surface shimmering under the glow of the overhead lights. Nye’s gaze lingered on it, a strange feeling settling in his chest.

  For all the years they had been best friends, Nye only remembered tiny fragments of her world. Standing here, amidst the remnants of her life, he realized just how much more there had been to Mia—how much of herself she had woven into her home, into every choice, every object, every carefully curated piece of haunting beauty.

  Descending the stairs was a slow, careful endeavor—each silver panel felt like a death trap under his feet with the crutch. Nye exhaled in relief once he reached solid ground, shaking his head at the impracticality of the design. Suddenly, his gaze landed on two doors downstairs he had overlooked earlier. One, leading to the backyard. The other, positioned on the side. He assumed it led to her garage. With nothing better to do, he made his way toward it.

  The door slid open with a soft hiss, and the sight inside made his chest tighten. His lips curled into a small, bittersweet smile.

  There it was—her glider bike.

  He stepped inside, drawn toward the vehicle as if it held a gravitational pull of its own. The gleaming machine, untouched yet brimming with unspoken history, stood waiting in the faint light. Nye ran his fingers along its edges, feeling the smooth, cold surface beneath his touch. As if sensing his presence, the contours of the bike flickered to life, neon lights tracing its form in a silent acknowledgment.

  The memories came rushing in.

  He could almost hear her laughter, the teasing lilt in her voice as she convinced him he needed to hold onto her for balance as a passenger—when, in reality, she had just wanted to mess with him. And he had fallen for it.

  A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, quickly followed by a sigh. Nostalgia had a cruel way of sneaking up on people.

  With one last lingering glance, he turned away from the bike and made his way back inside. The weight of exhaustion was finally settling into his bones, pressing down on his already weary body. He sank onto the couch, propping his crutch against a nearby chair. A long silence followed.

  Then, he glanced at his Voxlet. “You heard Noro, right?”

  “Yes, Nye.” Eve’s voice came through, subdued yet ever-present.

  His jaw tightened. “Care to explain why I’m and why I wasn’t made aware of that?”

  There was a brief pause before Eve responded, her tone unnervingly sincere and disarming. “Well, Nye…you must understand that human life unfolds at its own pace. I’m going to play the ‘As An AI’ card now, but please bear with me.” She warned with a sarcastic undertone in her voice, “As an AI, I’m not programmed to deliver irrelevant information to my owners unless specifically asked. And to be fair, I was sparing you a panic attack—considering your situation as of late.”

  Nye grimaced, unconvinced. “I distinctly remember asking you what I did for a living, and you told me my work details were classified, and then just a few days ago you magically knew I worked at the Special Task Force.. So if this isn’t tied to my job, then why the hell am I famous?”

  “Your popularity is entirely tied to your former job, Nye. I understand it may be distressful to learn new things about yourself every other day from strangers while I promised to tell you everything. It is only valid to feel confused at this point. I apologize for that. However, I do stand partially corrected, and I made certain choices of releasing information based on your progress,” Eve replied smoothly. “While you were a highly-ranked federal agent working with every planetary government, the details of your assignments remain classified.”

  Nye let out a sharp breath, irritation flickering in his expression. “And you couldn’t have just told me that the first time I asked why they were giving me a ten-year paid leave?”

  “I understand your frustration, Nye,” Eve said, her tone disarmingly patient. “But would it have changed anything? Would it have made you want to return to your job just because of your popularity? According to my progress data, you would have rolled your eyes and pulled even further away. My primary function is to adjust my engagement method based on your personality and your progress, and I calculated that revealing this information earlier wouldn’t have served you any better than withholding it.”

  Nye sat in silence, mulling over her words. He hated to admit it, but she had a point. If she had dumped all of this on him right after Mia passed, barely able to stand on his own two feet, he probably would have spiraled further.

  His shoulders relaxed slightly. “I guess that’s not entirely wrong. I sure would’ve had a panic attack. I can barely carry myself right now—I don’t know if I even to go back.” He ran a hand through his hair carefully to not touch the bandage, sighing.

  “I’m sorry, I overreacted.” He said quietly. “But Eve, you’ve been playing mind games with me whether you realize it or not. I’m done being treated like a damn puppet, only being exposed to the information that seems befitting to . For the last time, I want the truth. Plain and simple. Is that clear? Because if not, I’ll have you completely removed from my household system. I know it doesn’t matter to you , but something tells me you’re too reluctant to accept that failure.” he said firmly.

  Unlike other times, Nye had an undertone of distrust and frustration simmering in his voice. It was as if he was beginning to convince himself that everyone, including his NEON system was hiding things from him that he deserved to know the day he returned home this year.

  Eve let out an exaggerated sigh. “Crystal clear, Nye. Though at this rate, you’ll have me going through a full reboot procedure anytime now.” Her dramatic tone earned a quiet chuckle from him.

  “And like I said earlier, you better hurry the hell up, in that case.” He retorted with a feigned grin.

  Just as he was about to get up, Eve spoke again. “Nye, you should stay the night. It’s late, and this house is yours now. You can grab breakfast in the city tomorrow before heading back. What do you say?”

  He hesitated, then nodded to himself. “That’s… actually not a bad idea. I might as well.” He exhaled, sinking deeper into the couch. “I could really use some quiet. That godforsaken cleaning unit has had me on my toes the past few days.” He muttered under his breath, gaining a chuckle from Eve.

  “Does that mean you believe there are people and things still loved by god?” Eve teased.

  “Shut up, Eve.” His response came instantly, in a flat tone. Then after a second, he added, “I don't know. But shut up.” Then he went for a few minutes, gradually drifting away into a drowsy state.

  The last thing Nye registered was the distant hum of the vehicles passing over the city. Before he could think any further, exhaustion dragged him under, pulling him into sleep before he even realized it.

  A distant splash shattered the stillness of Nye’s subconscious, an echo rippling through the void of his dreamscape. Before he could piece together its source, he found himself plummeting, his limbs weightless, his descent slow yet inevitable. The frigid embrace of water engulfed him, pulling him into its depths with the quiet certainty of gravity. His arms drifted outward, surrendering to the liquid abyss, while his eyes remained open, locked on the distorted shimmer of the world above.

  At the river’s edge stood a lone figure, her silhouette defined by the luminescent scarlet strands cascading down her shoulders. Mia. There was no mistaking her. But before he could call out to her, the water claimed him further, its pressure squeezing his chest, muffling every sound. He opened his mouth, desperate to speak her name, only for the icy flood to surge in, filling his lungs with burning silence.

  Panic struck like a live wire. His chest constricted, his instincts flaring against the cruel realization—he couldn’t breathe. He needed air. He needed air now. A violent struggle erupted within him, his body twisting, legs kicking wildly, arms flailing against the crushing weight of the deep. The more he fought, the more the current resisted, dragging him deeper into its blackened maw. His head spun, his vision darkened at the edges, his limbs numb with the creeping cold. No, no, no!

  He tried again, forcing his voice through the water, but only bubbles escaped, spiraling toward the unreachable light above. His vision wavered, his strength fading, and as his consciousness teetered on the brink of oblivion, a voice cut through the silence.

  “Nye.”

  Faint, but unmistakable.

  The voice called again—clearer this time, resonating within the vast emptiness of his mind. It sounded familiar. Too familiar. He stirred within the abyss, his body floating in the weightless dark.

  Then he saw it. A figure swimming toward him, slicing through the water like a specter materializing from the void. Nye squinted against the shifting currents, his pulse hammering. Who was it? Too dark to tell. But as the figure neared, the uncertainty unraveled into something far more unsettling. It was .

  Long strands of auburn hair swayed with the water’s pull, framing a face identical to his own. Their green eyes met, an unspoken understanding passing between them in the deafening silence of the deep. A hand reached out, gripping his wrist, firm yet effortless. And then—

  Upward. They ascended in a swift, fluid motion, cutting through the watery abyss like gravity had lost its hold. Light speared through the shifting blue, streaks of gold piercing the gloom. The surface beckoned, tantalizingly close now. Nye’s heart pounded. He wasn’t alone. But how? How could he be pulling himself up when he couldn’t even swim?

  Then it hit him.

  Nile.

  The name reverberated through his skull, a whisper against the backdrop of his rising panic. His thoughts tumbled into chaos, questions colliding in a frenzied storm. He barely had time to process it before—

  His eyes shot open.

  Air rushed into his lungs in a ragged gasp, his chest heaving as the dream shattered into reality. His vision swam, blurred with lingering remnants of the abyss. His fingers curled into the fabric beneath him, grounding himself. Breathe. Just breathe.

  The familiar glow of his Voxlet flared to life.

  “Rise and glaze, Nye. How are you feeling?” Eve’s voice chimed in, crisp and annoyingly cheerful.

  His breath hitched, his pulse still erratic. He coughed, shuddering as the realization set in. A . It was just a dream. His fingers trembled as he ran them through his damp hair, his voice coming out hoarse, disbelieving. “I... I had a dream.”

  The words felt foreign on his tongue. Since waking from the coma, his nights had been barren—blank slates of unconsciousness. But this? This was different. It had felt real.

  A shift beneath him sent an eerie chill crawling up his spine.

  His body wasn’t resting on the couch anymore. No. His upper torso was cradled in something firm, yet eerily gentle.

  Something not human.

  Nye bolted upright with a jolt, his muscles screaming in protest. A sharp pang shot through his ribs as he twisted around, coming face to face with the humanoid unit from Mia’s house. Its synthetic eyes remained vacant, unfeeling, yet its arms had been positioned in a way that suggested it had been holding him.

  “What the hell?!” Nye snapped, scrambling away from the bot like it had just whispered sweet nothings in his ear. “Who turned it on?!”

  Eve’s voice, ever composed, cut through his rising panic. “Please calm down, Nye.”

  “Calm down? I woke up in a robot’s lap! That’s some horror sim-level nightmare fuel!”

  “The unit’s distress protocols were activated automatically,” she explained with infuriating patience. “It detected abnormal convulsions and responded accordingly.”

  His stomach sank. “Convulsions?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “In your sleep,” Eve confirmed. “Likely triggered by your dream.”

  A cold wave of dread washed over him. His body and mind were turning against him, slipping further out of his control. It was happening in his sleep now. His throat tightened, fingers curling into fists. The mere thought of being trapped—helpless, powerless in your own body—sent ice splintering through his veins. He clenched his jaw, fighting to keep his breathing steady. Minutes passed in silence. The weight of reality pressed down on him like a crushing force.

  “Nye?”

  Eve’s voice cut through the spiraling storm of his thoughts, grounding him like an anchor before he could drift further into his anxieties. “Let’s get you going, shall we? Would you still like to grab a bite in the city for breakfast?”

  There was something oddly comforting about her tone. Despite being an AI, she had a way of infusing warmth into her speech, an uncanny mimicry of genuine care—so much so that Nye often found himself responding to her as he would to a real person. He swallowed down the lingering unease in his chest and gave a small nod.

  “Yeah… I think I do.”

  “Excellent!” Eve replied, a faint hint of relief in her artificial voice. “Now, the humanoid unit is currently active. It will assist you in standing up as per its protocols. Kindly do not resist. Alright?”

  Nye glanced warily at the humanoid. Even in its idle state, the synthetic form unsettled him—the seamless blend of organic movement and mechanical precision felt too perfect, too unnatural. It was the kind of technology that blurred the line between artificial and real, and something about that always made his skin crawl. But in his current state, he didn’t have the luxury to argue. He sighed, nodding again.

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  The humanoid’s head snapped upright, its synthetic eyes locking onto him with an unsettling awareness. Then, with eerie precision, it rose to its feet in a fluid motion—silent, effortless. Without hesitation, it crouched down, its servos humming softly as it guided Nye’s legs to the floor. A firm yet careful grip wrapped around his arm, lifting him like he weighed nothing. The machine moved with a kind of calculated gentleness, not too firm, not too lax—just enough to steady him without making him feel entirely helpless.

  It reached over, retrieved his crutch, and handed it to him in a single, seamless motion. Nye took it, shifting his weight onto the familiar support, feeling the dull throb in his muscles from the earlier convulsions. Every step sent a ripple of pain through his body, a drilling reminder that whatever was happening to him wasn’t just in his head—it was real, worsening, and it was completely beyond his control.

  After a few slow, careful steps, he found his balance. Standing on his own was one thing, but walking across the city? That was a different battle entirely. The streets of Neryon weren’t built for gliders—without a bike, you were either stuck walking for miles or at the mercy of automated transport hubs, which, in Nye’s current condition, wasn’t an option.

  He exhaled sharply, bracing himself against the crutch. “Eve, how am I supposed to get there? There’s no way I can walk that far.”

  A brief pause. Then Eve offered a solution, her voice carrying the practiced ease of a personal assistant delivering the most logical option.

  “Would you be comfortable if the humanoid unit rode Mia’s bike for you? It is fully capable of operating the vehicle and will return home autonomously to park it in the garage. I will remotely shut it down once its task is complete. This would ensure minimal physical strain on your part.”

  Nye scowled at the suggestion. The idea of this thing using Mia’s bike—her personal space, her scent, her everything—made his stomach twist. It felt intrusive, wrong.

  But what choice did he have?

  He clenched his jaw, swallowing down his irritation. “Yeah. Sure. Not like I have any better options.”

  The humanoid didn’t react to his disgruntled tone. It simply turned, moving toward the garage with robotic efficiency, preparing for yet another task it was programmed to execute flawlessly..

  The humanoid deposited Nye at one of the nearest CosmoBrews outlets, its movements precise, almost too perfect in their efficiency. The café had a designated docking zone for gliders, allowing passengers a seamless transition between transport modes. That meant Nye could call for his own glider to take him home later—one less thing to worry about.

  As much as he loathed the experience of riding Mia’s bike as a passenger, especially with her humanoid unit at the helm, he couldn’t deny the convenience. The ride was smooth, almost unnervingly so. Unlike Mia, who took pride in her reckless swerves and sharp turns, her humanoid was calculated, optimizing every movement for efficiency and safety.

  Nye scoffed under his breath. She would have hated that.

  The humanoid, in its usual silent manner, extended a steadying hand as Nye dismounted. He resisted the urge to slap it away, though the sight of its synthetic fingers curling around his arm made his stomach twist. He hated taking its help—but it was Mia’s. That alone gave it a weight he couldn’t shake.

  With an exhale, he adjusted his grip on his crutch and made his way inside. Behind him, the humanoid disappeared into the city’s endless motion, riding Mia’s bike away like a ghost slipping into the background.

  Inside, CosmoBrews pulsed with energy. The café was a kaleidoscope of movement, filled with patrons who represented the pinnacle of genetic perfection—Primes. They lounged in sleek seating pods, sipping imported blends and engaging in lively chatter. Some came alone, immersed in holo-screens floating before their faces. Others merely passed through, grabbing their morning fix before heading off to whatever high-tier profession their enhanced DNA had secured for them.

  The only deformeds in sight were behind the counter, relegated to menial roles. Baristas, cashiers, kitchen staff—all of them marked by the genetic imperfections that had denied them access to the privileges of Prime society. Nye had long since grown used to the sight, but today, one face in particular stood out.

  “Bret?!”

  The name left his lips in an incredulous loudness, a small, unexpected grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  Behind the counter, a light cyan man in a CosmoBrews-branded apron perked up, his eyes locking onto Nye’s in an instant. Recognition flickered across his face, quickly followed by a dramatic double-take.

  “Nye! Holy shit!”

  Bret spun toward his coworkers, already peeling off his apron as he waved them off. “I’m taking a break. Cover for me.” He didn’t wait for a response before striding toward Nye with his usual swagger, his expression a mix of shock and amusement.

  “Damn, man, what are you doing here?” Bret slid into the seat across from him, his gaze immediately flicking to Nye’s bandaged head. He was rather surprised that it hadn't healed already. “You look like absolute shit. What the hell happened? That bandage is still screaming ‘poor life choices.’”

  Nye let out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’ve had better days.” He paused, his smile fading slightly. “I missed you at Mia’s burial.”

  Bret’s smirk twitched—something unreadable passed through his expression, but it was gone before Nye could place it. He clicked his tongue, leaning back. “You did?”

  Nye nodded, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

  Bret exhaled through his nose, offering a lopsided grin. “Well, can’t say I’m surprised. Deformeds aren’t exactly allowed on the guest list for Prime funerals.”

  There was a bite to his words, but Nye knew it wasn’t directed at him. That fact didn’t make it any easier to swallow.

  “You want anything?” Nye asked, eager to shift the topic. “I just came to grab a bite.”

  Bret waved him off. “Nah, man, another time. I’m on shift. Just covering for a friend tonight. One-time thing.” He studied Nye for a moment, his curiosity piqued. “So, what are you doing in the city? You never come out here unless you have to.”

  Nye hesitated. He wasn’t sure why, but saying it out loud felt heavier than it should have. “Mia’s lawyer stopped by yesterday,” he finally said, his voice quieter. “She… left everything to me in her will.” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to finish. “I just wanted to drop by…I miss her, man.”

  Bret’s grin faltered for just a fraction of a second, but then it returned—too practiced, too effortless. He clicked his tongue again and reached across the table, giving Nye’s hand a firm pat before pulling away. “Yeah, man. I know. I’m sorry.”

  Nye nodded, mouthing a small ‘thanks.’

  Bret stood abruptly, dusting off his apron. “Wait here. I’ll put in an order for your usual, yeah?”

  Nye smirked. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

  With a mock salute, Bret strutted back to the counter, slipping seamlessly into his role as he called out the order. However, he certainly did not seem very happy with the news of Mia leaving everything to Nye.

  For a moment, Nye silently observed Bret at work. It was a rare sight—refreshing, even—to see Bret being useful for a change.

  Soon enough, a humanoid waiter arrived with his meal on a neatly arranged tray, setting it down with mechanical precision. “Enjoy your breakfast!” it chirped before walking away to serve other customers.

  The coffee, labeled on its sleek container, rested neatly in one corner, while a cheese and beef jerky bagel—wrapped in a paper-like material—took center stage. A small dish of sauce accompanied it, along with a bowl of french fries made from hybrid Earth-Lirothian potatoes. Each fry was impressively long, thanks to the melon-sized tubers they came from.

  A grin tugged at Nye’s lips—unbidden, unexpected. He had no idea what his favorites actually tasted like, but the meal looked good. Even smelled good. And that was enough.

  Without ceremony, he dug in. The first bite sent a rush of warm, melted cheese cascading over his tongue, mingling with the savory chew of the jerky. A strange sensation unfurled within him—something distant yet familiar. It was as if his taste buds, dormant since Mia’s passing, were awakening from a deep slumber.

  For the first time in a long while, something tasted right.

  He finished his meal in quiet appreciation, washing it down with the Stellar Espresso—just as smooth and bold as Bret claimed it had always been. Once done, he wiped his hands with the antiseptic wet tissues provided and reached for the iris scanner embedded in the table to process his payment.

  “So? How was it?” Bret’s voice boomed from behind just as Nye completed the transaction.

  Turning around, Nye found himself smiling— smiling. “It was great. Thanks, man. I think I should start dropping by more often.” His gaze lowered slightly. “Food hasn’t really appealed to me lately. Not even with the Mary.” He hesitated, then exhaled. “It’s like my appetite has vanished after Mia…”

  Bret pressed his lips together, words momentarily eluding him. Then, suddenly, a spark of excitement flashed across his face. He plopped down across from Nye, brimming with an idea.

  Nye sighed internally. He already knew he wasn’t going to like whatever was coming next.

  “Have you considered… the brain implant? The ?” Bret asked, his curiosity piqued. “Have you heard about it?”

  An incredulous chuckle escaped Nye. He Bret was going to suggest something absurd.

  “Yeah, I’ve heard of it.” He kept his tone light, careful not to deflate Bret’s enthusiasm. “But it’s not really something I’m looking into right now.”

  “Oh, come , Nye!” Bret leaned in, undeterred. “This could literally all your problems. Even the convulsions, man.”

  There was no malice in his persistence, only genuine concern.

  “The chip was for people dealing with what you’re going through. This could be your big breakthrough. You could even get back to work if you were one of the Emotionally Enhanced!”

  He was starting to sound like a salesman, but Nye could tell he meant every word.

  Instead of outright shutting him down, Nye simply cleared his throat and gave a noncommittal nod. “I’ll think about it.” He rose from his seat, offering a small smile. “Thanks for the suggestion, Bret. And for picking a great breakfast for me.”

  Bret smirked. “Anytime, buddy.”

  Nye gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you. Drop by my place sometime.”

  “You bet.” Bret clapped him on the back before jogging toward the counter, where his supervisor was already calling for him. “Take care, Nye!”

  With a final wave, Nye exited the café.

  To his relief, his glider was already waiting at the lot. The moment its transparent door parted, he climbed inside and let it whisk him into the air.

  He didn’t spare a second thought to the NeuroHalcyon chip. Not until his glider crossed into downtown—where the skyline pulsed with holographic billboards, one of them flashing ad.

  It played the same marketing script as always.

  "Introducing our newly released version of the NeuroHalcyon Chip?: Your Gateway to a Pain-Free Tomorrow."

  "What if you could leave pain behind—forever?

  What if the memories that haunt you could no longer dictate your life?



  With the new customizable NeuroHalcyon Chip?, the impossible becomes reality.

  Developed by the world's greatest minds at Aeternum—humanity's beacon of hope—this breakthrough in neuro-psychological engineering targets the core of emotional distress. Say goodbye to anguish, despair, and hopelessness.



  Live without fear. Live without pain. Live fully.

  NeuroHalcyon: Because every life matters."

  Then came the testimonials. Different faces this time, but the same carefully manufactured emotions.

  The ad ended with its signature tagline:

  "Reclaim your life, fall in love, make a family, or just simply live free of pain and anguish. Choose NeuroHalcyon today."

  Nothing had changed in these ads since Nye woke from his coma. The only thing that ever shifted was the people delivering the testimonials.

  He had seen this ad times before. And yet, this time… something felt different.

  The words hit him harder than they should have.

  The lines echoed in his head, refusing to be ignored.

  Nye clenched his jaw, annoyed. He had successfully planted the idea, and now it was , lingering like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

  Was this chip really a solution? Or just another artificial manipulation of the human brain—a way to you weren’t sad, even if you still were?

  The age-old debate stirred within him, but he quickly shoved it aside.

  By the time his glider entered the airspace over his estate, the ads faded into background noise, and with them, the intrusive thoughts.

  He didn’t need to heal.

  After returning home that night, Nye resorted to staying indoors at all times. A sudden cloud of despair had overtaken him the moment he was back home. The cleaning unit became a constant background noise. And then, his weeks began to bleed into each other like ink dissolving in water, and night after night, Nye's sleep was invaded by the same dream—a silent, merciless loop. He would plunge into the depths of an impossibly vast river, its darkness swallowing him whole. Above, at the edge of the water, stood Mia, her silhouette stark against the dim glow of an unseen light source. She never reached for him. She never called out. She only stood there, watching him drown.

  As he sank, the void beneath him stretched endlessly, a cosmic abyss of water and shadow. Every time, just before complete obliteration, Nile’s voice would cut through the suffocating silence, calling his name. The sound was always close yet maddeningly distant, like an echo traveling across spacetime. Then, out of the gloom, Nile’s hand would emerge, gripping his wrist with unyielding certainty, pulling him upwards, towards the fractured light refracting on the river’s surface.

  But he never makes it out.

  The dream always ended there—on the cusp of salvation, on the edge of waking. And then the cycle would begin again.

  It became relentless, striking whenever Nye dozed off, no matter the hour. He began avoiding sleep altogether, shutting himself off from everything, even Eve. Conversations dwindled to necessity. The edges of his already fragile world crumbled further. And as if the dream itself wasn’t torment enough, sometimes Mia’s voice would slip through the cracks of his subconscious, whispering with cruel clarity:



  The words crawled under his skin like parasites, burrowing deep, festering. Visiting her house had definitely contributed to his worsening symptoms of grief and emotional stress.

  How could he even begin to find out more about his brother when Nile and Mia had become ghosts that haunted his dreams too? Worse, he feared that speaking of him out loud might summon another seizure, another violent betrayal by his own body.

  Eve, for her part, was caught between conflicting conclusions for an AI. A small, shameful relief had taken root that Nye had stopped questioning her about Nile, but it was drowned out by an overwhelming concern for his deteriorating state. His health was declining rapidly. What he didn’t tell her—what he told no one—was that the dreams had only started on the night he spent at Mia’s place. Before that, since waking from the coma, he hadn’t dreamt at all.

  Now, not only did the nightmares steal his sleep, but they also triggered seizures in the dead of night. His body rebelled against him, convulsions wracking his frame until his muscles became leaden with exhaustion. Nights blurred together in an agonizing haze of paralysis, leaving him too weak to function, too sore to move. His world shrank to the confines of his bed, his existence reduced to waiting—for what, he wasn’t sure.

  Thankfully, the cleaning unit ensured he didn’t choke during the episodes, rolling him onto his side with precise, mechanical efficiency. The little bot was insufferable otherwise, a manic creature perpetually seeking something to organize, its spindly limbs twitching with the desperate need to tidy. But at least it kept him alive. He was just grateful he hadn’t caved and brought home a humanoid unit. Mia’s was eerie enough.

  Then came the day he had to remove the bandages from the left side of his face and head. Eve arranged an in-home medical service, and when the door hissed open, two humanoid nurses stepped inside, their synthetic gazes scanning him with unnerving precision. Their movements were too fluid, too perfect—a grotesque parody of human grace.

  They peeled away the gauze with clinical detachment, exposing the healed wound beneath. The sharp, searing pain from the initial injury was gone, but in its place, a scar remained—a delicate yet sinister mark that began at the corner of his temple, carved its way through his eyelid, and slithered down to below his left ear. It was faint, barely noticeable unless observed up close. Nye took one look at it and hated it immediately. But in the grand scheme of sorrows, he had bigger problems. Within a week, he forgot about it entirely.

  Or maybe, he just stopped caring.

  Once again, he withdrew from everything. From everyone.

  Eve, as always, played the reluctant messenger, keeping his friends updated while insisting they give him space. They didn’t understand, but she stood firm, shielding him from their well-intentioned concern. Vin, Bret, and Liz had tried. Many times, they had pleaded to visit, but Nye remained an immovable void, unreachable, unresponsive.

  Eve knew he was slipping further away, but she also knew forcing him wouldn’t work. So she waited, watching over him, wondering if he would ever claw his way back to the surface—or if, this time, he would let himself drown for good.

  By the time he reached the threshold of eleven months since waking from his coma, Nye had become a prisoner of his own body and mind. The seizures, relentless and merciless, gnawed at his strength. The grief, like a phantom, coiled around his throat, suffocating him with every breath. But on that particular morning, something shifted.

  The sun had risen, casting fractured golden light through the walls made of glass—an ironic contrast to the cavernous void he had been dwelling in. For the first time in weeks, he decided to leave his bed. It wasn’t a grand declaration, no cinematic resolve, just a quiet rebellion against the inertia swallowing him whole. His crutch became his lifeline as he dragged himself toward the kitchen, a place that had not seen much activity beyond Eve’s persistent efforts to keep him from completely wasting away.

  Making an omelet and a cup of black coffee felt like an insurmountable quest. But he managed. The eggs didn’t burn, the coffee was bitter and strong—just how he liked it. A small victory. But as he turned to set his plate down on the counter, his body betrayed him.

  The seizure struck without warning.

  A violent tremor erupted through his limbs, his muscles spasming with a force that sent the plate shattering to the floor. His vision blurred, darkened. Before his skull could collide with the kitchen tiles, the cleaning unit sprang into action. In a flash of mechanical precision, it shoved a cushion from the couch beneath his head. A calculated move. Eve was just glad that he didn’t crack his skull open against the unforgiving surface, and he hadn’t slammed into the kitchen counter either.

  He lost time. When he finally surfaced back into consciousness, he found himself sprawled on the cold floor, his breath ragged, muscles screaming in exhaustion. Above him, the ceiling lights hung lazily, illuminated now that the sun was down already—indifferent to his suffering. His coffee, now cold and forgotten, sat untouched on the counter, a silent proof to yet another battle lost against his own body. The cleaning unit had already taken care of the plate and the omlet that slipped from Nye’s hands earlier.

  And that was it.

  He had had enough.

  No matter how much he tried to convince himself that he could endure this existence—this endless loop of suffering, grief, and the haunting echoes of his past—he realized he could no longer keep pretending. He refused to be someone who let life slip through his fingers after getting a second chance at it. There had to be a reason he’d woken from that coma, and it without a doubt, wasn’t to rot away like this.

  So he made up his mind. He hated the decision, resented it with every fiber of his being. But he made it anyway.

  “Eve,” his voice was hoarse, roughened by exhaustion.

  “Good to see you awake, Nye,” Eve responded, her tone gentle but edged with concern. “How are you feeling?”

  He ignored the question entirely. “How do you get those brain implants?”

  A beat of silence. Then, a flicker of intrigue sparked in Eve’s voice. “Well, I just need to make a call to Aeternum to fix an appointment. After a full physical assessment and briefing, they’ll assign you a date for the implantation upon your agreement. Why do you ask?”

  Again, he sidestepped her curiosity. “Does it regulate abnormal or overactive electrical signals in the brain?”

  “It sure does!” Eve confirmed, her enthusiasm barely contained. “It’s an incredibly effective neural stabilizer. Are you considering—?”

  A quiet sigh escaped him as he pushed himself upright with the help of his crutch, every movement a painful reminder of his frailty. He winced but remained firm.

  “Call them,” he said, his voice steady and decisive. “I’m getting one.”

The Haunting

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