The next few days blurred.
Brecht heard voices through the wall vents—his mother, dead ten years. Elen woke up with equations etched on her datapad she didn't remember writing, formulas tied to neural waveform transmission.
Rhys watched footage of himself walking down Corridor B at 04:12, pausing, looking into the camera. But at that time, he'd been asleep in the medbay.
Talia retrieved an archived maintenance file dated two decades prior. It listed her name, position, and security clearance. Her photo stared back at her. But she had never been to Vostrix-9.
Leena stopped sleeping. She said her dreams were filled with voices whispering from deep under the ice. Describing things she had never studied, never seen.
The crew began to turn on each other. Accusations of tampering. Secrets. Hidden agendas. Reyes kept them focused, but his own grip was weakening. He found an old logbook with his handwriting. A warning scrawled at the top:
> "Do not let them remember."
Then came the synchronicity. Heartbeats matching at 03:00. Thoughts finishing in unison. Shared hallucinations of doors opening when none had moved.
The station wasn't haunted. It was aware. And it was remembering.