I thought the fire would end it.
The memories. The facility. The thing inside me.
But fire doesn't destroy everything.
Some things survive it.
Some things become it.
Three days passed.
At least, that's what the school claimed.
I don't remember sleep. Or food. Or speaking to anyone besides Rhea.
It was like time bent around us, giving space to breathe but no room to forget.
I tried going back to class.
People looked at me like they always had.
Like I was golden. Untouchable.
But something in me had cracked—and now the shine just felt hollow.
I walked past mirrors and saw something I didn't trust.
Not someone evil.
Someone… unfinished.
It started again that night.
A scratch under my skin.
Not physical.
Not quite.
I peeled back the collar of my shirt and froze.
The symbol.
Faint.
Burned into me again.
No ink. No marker.
Just skin that remembered being rewritten.
I ran to the bathroom. Scrubbed until I bled.
It didn't fade.
If anything, it got clearer.
Rhea was waiting in the courtyard.
She hadn't slept either.
She looked at me like she already knew.
"I saw it too," she said softly. "Not on me. In my notebook. Pages I didn't write."
I showed her my collarbone.
She didn't flinch.
Instead, she pulled up her sleeve.
There were numbers there now.
Etched faintly across her forearm like shadows of another life:
> V-05 | Unstable | Monitor
We didn't say anything for a long time.
Then:
> "The system's gone," I whispered. "We saw it burn."
Rhea shook her head.
"No," she said. "We saw a piece. We saw our story burn. But whatever built that place…"
She looked up at the gray sky.
"It had deeper roots."
Later that evening, I returned to my dorm and found an envelope on my bed.
No name.
Inside was a photo.
Me and Rhea—taken from above. From somewhere high. Her leaning into me. My hand on her back.
On the back of the photo:
> "Monitor subjects reengaged. Pattern unstable. Proximity persists."
My blood ran cold.
We weren't out.
We were still inside.
I went to her immediately.
She didn't act surprised.
"We were never supposed to meet again," she said. "That was the point. Separate us. Split the pattern."
"But we came back."
"Because something stronger than memory brought us together."
She looked at me, and for the first time since the library, she looked scared.
> "They're watching again, Adrian. And this time, they're not just recording. They're waiting."
"For what?" I asked.
She paused.
Then:
> "To see who breaks first."
Rhea didn't come back to her dorm that night.
I waited.
Watched the hallway outside her room from my window. Counted the hours. Told myself I wasn't worried.
That was a lie.
I was terrified.
Not that something had taken her.
But that she had left.
At 4:12 a.m., I gave in and went looking.
The school was silent. Cold. Like it was holding its breath.
I checked the courtyard first. Then the library. Then the eastern corridor with the room that didn't exist.
Nothing.
My chest ached. My head buzzed.
I almost didn't check the rooftop.
But when I pushed the rusted door open—
There she was.
Sitting on the edge like it was nothing. Wind in her hair. Moonlight clinging to her skin.
She didn't look at me.
But she knew I was there.
"You shouldn't be up here," I said quietly.
"Neither should you."
Silence.
Then she added, "They used to lock me in a room without windows. I like watching the sky now."
I stood beside her, but didn't sit.
Because if I did, I might not stop myself from touching her.
And if I touched her—
I wasn't sure what part of me I'd lose.
"I don't know what's real anymore," I said. "Us. Them. What we remember. What we don't."
Her voice was almost a whisper.
"Maybe it doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
"Why?" she asked, finally looking at me. "Because you need to control the narrative? Because you can't stand not knowing what you are?"
"No." I stepped closer. "Because I need to know what we are."
She froze.
I could see it in the way her shoulders tensed. The way her lips parted just barely.
"I don't know if we were made for each other," she said slowly. "Or if we were just made to break the same way."
"Does it matter?" I asked.
Her eyes found mine.
And for the first time, she was the one who looked afraid to fall.
"Adrian…"
"I keep seeing you in places I've never been. Hearing your voice in my head like it's stitched into the static. You think that's programming?"
"I think that's dangerous."
"So is breathing near you," I said. "But I still do it."
She turned away. The wind tugged at her hair.
I couldn't stop myself anymore.
I stepped behind her.
Placed my hands on her shoulders.
She didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
When I leaned forward, I didn't speak into her ear.
I just pressed my forehead to the back of her neck.
And let myself stay there.
"You're not mine," I said. "I know that."
Her breath hitched.
"But something in me still wants you to be."
She slowly rose to her feet. Turned to face me. Eyes dark, wide, unreadable.
"You shouldn't want that."
"Too late."
And then—finally—
She kissed me.
Not gently.
Not sweetly.
It was trembling and angry and hungry all at once, like she'd been holding her breath for years and I was the only thing left with oxygen.
I kissed her back like I needed her to shut me up.
To shut the system up.
When we pulled apart, we were both breathless.
"You're going to hate me," she whispered.
I nodded.
"Probably."
Her hand slid up to my chest—right over the faint mark still burned into my collarbone.
Then she stepped back.
> "Then remember this, Adrian."
> "I kissed you first."
We didn't speak after the kiss.
Not on the roof. Not walking back to the dorms. Not even when I reached for her hand, and she didn't pull away.
It was like something had snapped and we both heard it.
Not glass. Not bone.
Something deeper.
Something inside us.