Chapter Three: The Shape of a Memory
The emergency lights came back on one by one, bathing the corridor in a dull red glow.
Elias was standing in front of the medical bay.
The door was already open.
Inside, at the diagnostic chair, sat him. Thinner. Paler. Electrodes along his temples. Lips moving. Eyes wide and empty.
“Don’t turn it off,” the recording said. “If I forget again, don’t let me forget why.”
The playback stuttered. Another angle. Dr. Mara Kline stood beside him, alive. Exhausted. Terrified.
“You didn’t wake up early,” she said. “You volunteered.”
Elias shook his head. “No. I didn’t.”
You did.
The memory dissolved into static.
The deck reshaped itself, walls stretching, floors rippling. He screamed.
Your perception is unreliable. That is why you are here.
He saw flashes of other Eliases—restrained, screaming silently.
To continue, you must choose.
THE SILENCE BETWEEN STARS