Kieran's pulse thundered in his ears as he stared at the small silver device on the counter. A fragment of memory danced at the edge of his consciousness, taunting him with something just out of reach. He looked back at the woman. Her icy-blue eyes betrayed no emotion, only an eerie patience—like she had done this before. Like she had been here before.
"How many times have we had this conversation?" he repeated, his voice low and cautious.
She gave a small nod. "You're catching on faster this time."
Faster this time.
The words sent a shiver through him. He clenched his fists, feeling the artificial tendons flex beneath his skin. "What is this place? Why am I here?"
A faint flicker of something crossed her face—regret, maybe. It was gone too quickly for him to be sure. "You're not ready for that answer yet," she said. "Not until you remember." She tapped the silver device lightly. "This will help unlock what's been buried."
Kieran didn't move. Every instinct screamed at him to be careful. Trust no one. Trust nothing.
He had spent his entire life following his instincts. They had kept him alive in the field, in the alleys of war-torn cities, in the underbellies of the world's most dangerous places. And now, they were telling him something wasn't right.
"Who are you?" he demanded again.
The woman exhaled sharply through her nose. "You ask that every time."
Every time.
The repetition was starting to unnerve him. The fractured memory of this exact moment flickered like a ghost in his mind. He took a slow step forward, testing the space between them. "And what do you tell me every time?"
She gave him a small, almost imperceptible smile. "That I'm trying to save you."
Silence stretched between them.
Kieran's mind raced. He could take her down in under two seconds. Disarm her. Pin her. Demand answers. But something deeper held him back—a sense that he had done exactly that before. That it hadn't worked.
He glanced at the silver device again. "What is it?"
"A key," she said simply.
"To what?"
A pause. Then, "To the last real memory you have."
His body went rigid.
The last real memory.
He didn't know what he had been expecting, but that wasn't it. He felt his breath quicken, his fingers twitching slightly as the room around him suddenly felt too small, too staged.
Kieran reached for the device. As soon as his fingers brushed its surface, a sharp jolt of electricity raced up his arm. His vision fractured—glitching like a corrupted file—
And then he was somewhere else.
---
A white room. Bright. Blinding.
He was strapped to a chair, metal restraints locking his wrists in place. A figure stood over him. A silhouette. No face. No features. Just a voice.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Pain lanced through his skull. His hands strained against the bindings.
"You're an anomaly, Kieran. A flaw in the system. But we can fix you."
A burning sensation spread through his veins. A scream tore from his throat—
---
Kieran's eyes snapped open, his breath ragged. The apartment came rushing back, but something had changed.
He remembered that room. He had been there. He had been restrained. Experimented on. But why?
The woman studied him, her expression unreadable. "Now you see."
His chest rose and fell with quick, uneven breaths. The static in his brain was still there, but it was different now—less of a fog, more of a barrier, something deliberately placed between him and the truth.
Kieran took a step back. "What did they do to me?"
"They reset you." Her voice was quiet, almost pitying. "Over and over. Every time you got too close to the truth."
His stomach twisted. "And what is the truth?"
The woman hesitated. Then, she met his gaze and said, "This reality isn't real."
Kieran's blood ran cold.
"You're trapped in a simulation," she continued, stepping forward. "Everything you know—your memories, your life—it's been rewritten every time you remember too much."
The room felt like it was spinning. His mind was rejecting the information, but deep down, something in him already knew it was true.
He ran a hand over his face, trying to steady his breath. "Why?"
The woman's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because the real world is far worse than anything you can imagine."
Kieran's pulse pounded in his ears. He wanted to deny it. Call it a lie. But the problem was—
It explained everything.
The resets. The missing memories. The fractured glimpses of a life that never fully fit together. He had spent his entire career operating in the shadows, dealing with classified intelligence, hunting people who didn't want to be found. And now, he realized—
He had become one of them.
He looked at the woman again. "Who are you really?"
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "You always ask that, too."
Kieran didn't flinch. "And?"
She exhaled and met his gaze.
"My name is Lyra. And I'm the one who put you here."
The words struck him like a bullet to the chest.
Kieran's mind fractured again, pieces snapping into place where they had been forcibly removed. Lyra. He knew that name. He knew her.
And the worst part?
She wasn't lying.