Caleb awoke with a sharp gasp, the sterile white lights overhead searing into his vision. The mechanical rhythm of beeping machines pulsed in the background, faint yet persistent. Cold sheets clung to his form, and a mess of wires crawled across his chest and arms, sensors blinking as they fed data into machines he didn't recognize. The sterile scent of antiseptic invaded his senses.
But none of it mattered.
"Mira," he whispered, her name cracking from his dry throat-a reflex more than a thought, a cry pulled from the depth of his soul.
His body surged with unnatural energy as he sat up, the sheets rustling around him. Alarms blared as he ripped the IV lines and monitors from his body. He didn't care about the sharp sting or the warm trail of blood left behind. His bare feet hit the cold linoleum floor. He moved like a ghost down the hallway, the hospital gown hanging loosely from his frame.
Visitors froze in place, some gasping at the strange man who looked more machine than human. The scars across his body, the glimmer of augmented muscle structures, the faint metallic sheen of embedded systems-none of it resembled the prosthetics they knew. He didn't belong here, and everyone knew it.
But Caleb didn't stop.
He felt it again-the resonance.
A subtle pulse, like the echo of her heartbeat vibrating through dimensions, calling him. His footsteps quickened, drawn forward by the invisible current.
He turned a corner and stopped.
There she was.
Mira.
Lying still, surrounded by machines and pale green curtains. Her face peaceful, her body unmoving.
Caleb's breath hitched. The room felt too small, too quiet. The silence threatened to crush him.
He stepped forward, tentative, reverent. Each motion carried weight as if the entire world balanced on this moment. Kneeling at her bedside, he reached out a trembling hand and brushed a lock of hair from her face. His fingertips trembled as they traced the curve of her cheek.
Then he leaned in and pressed his forehead gently to hers.
She was warm. Alive. Present.
The memories slammed into him-the pod, the cruel sterile glass, her lifeless form suspended like a relic in a museum. But now, she rested on her own terms. Not as a specimen. Not as a weapon. Just... Mira.
He closed his eyes, anchoring himself to her presence.
Nurses burst in, voices sharp with concern, their footsteps a sudden thunder. Caleb looked up slowly, but his gaze never wavered. When they moved to restrain him, to question him, he offered no resistance. Let them wonder. Let them panic.
As long as she was safe.
He said nothing. No explanations. No clarifications. He simply allowed them to usher him out. He refused to engage, speaking only when necessary. There was too much he didn't understand about this place.
So he did the only thing he knew how to do.
He waited.
After another round of forced tests-x-rays, bloodwork, DNA scans-he was finally allowed to return. They didn't know what to do with him. No identity in their records. No medical baseline. His body refused conventional readings.
He didn't care.
He found his way back to Mira's side.
She remained unconscious. Peaceful. Distant.
He pulled a chair to her bedside and sat down with a soft sigh. His fingers brushed lightly against hers.
"They checked everything," he said quietly. "Blood, structure, my skin-whatever it is. They're confused. I don't blame them."
A sad chuckle escaped him. "They gave me porridge. Warm, bland. Not like Philos. Not synthetic. It didn't taste like nourishment... it tasted like memory. Like something someone made with care."
He shifted slightly, eyes drifting to the window.
"And outside-there are trees. Not manufactured forests. Real ones. With birds that don't scan you or report your movement. Clouds that move without purpose. No scanners. No towers. Just... sky."
Mira lay still.
But he spoke to her anyway.
Day turned to night. And again.
A week passed.
Every day, he came. Sometimes he brought a book and read a chapter aloud, not knowing if she heard. Sometimes he described the colors he saw on his walk, the conversations he overheard, the warmth of the sun on his back.
He described a world she already knew, but that he was learning for the first time.
Sometimes, he sat in silence, just watching her breathe.
Until the glitch.
It came in the quiet hours of the night. The machines flickered, screens going static for a fraction of a second. Her body shimmered-barely perceptible-as if her atoms misaligned with the present.
She exhaled once, sharp and sudden. Not like a normal breath. Like a displaced echo returning home.
Then everything stilled.
Monitors returned to normal. Readings stabilized.
But something had changed.
The glitch was small, but unmistakable.
Reality around her had begun to fray again.
And wherever he was-Caleb would be the first to feel the unraveling.
Again.