The morning cycle onboard the Wraith was artificially triggered, yet for the first time in days, it felt real. The overhead lights glowed warm. The engines purred without strain. No alarms. No chasing death.
And yet, Elara couldn't breathe.
She sat upright in the narrow bunk, the sheets tangled at her hips, Aeron asleep beside her his face softer in rest than she'd ever seen it. His hand still rested over hers, fingers loosely entwined.
She studied his face like she was afraid to forget it. The scar on his temple. The faint crease between his brows. The way his breath caught ever so slightly when he dreamed.
He was real.
She was real.
But the whisper… the whisper from the Seed still curled like a phantom in the back of her mind.
It hadn't said words. Not exactly.
It had implied.
Recursion not complete. Convergence pending.
