forgotten echos: the meeting

THE FOLLOWING WEEKS

Days blurred together in the institute's fluorescent-lit corridors. Lenard found himself taking different routes to his monitoring station each morning, always pausing near the higher clearance elevators without knowing why. His dreams grew more vivid – running through darkness, reaching for something vital, something just beyond his fingertips.

Eden buried herself in research, working later each night as the runes' behavior became increasingly erratic. She started keeping a journal of her "episodes" as she called them – moments when the world seemed to shift sideways, when memories that couldn't be memories flickered through her mind like old film.

Entry 12: *Touched the hologram of Rune Sequence 847 today. Felt electric, but not from static. Like recognition. Impossible. These symbols predate our civilization.*

Entry 15: *That dream again. Running. Someone's hand in mine. Can't see their face.*

Entry 19: *Found myself in Section 7's observation deck. No memory of going there. Security logs show I accessed it at 3 AM. Why?*

THE BREAK ROOM - THREE WEEKS LATER

It wasn't even supposed to be an eventful Tuesday. The institute hummed with its usual activity – researchers analyzing data, technicians monitoring systems, the endless work of trying to understand the incomprehensible.

Lenard stood in the executive level break room, knowing he shouldn't be there. Level 3 clearance had its own facilities, its own coffee machines, its own rigid boundaries. But the headache pounding behind his eyes had been getting worse all morning, and the premium coffee makers were legendary among lower-level staff.

The machine's interface mocked him with its complexity. His hand shook slightly as he reached for the buttons, that familiar tingling sensation growing stronger.

"The trick is to press the temperature control first."

The voice behind him struck like lightning down his spine. His right hand spasmed, coffee cup slipping from suddenly numb fingers. He turned, slow, like moving through water.

She stood in the doorway – silver hair caught in the overhead lights, green eyes widening with... recognition? No, that wasn't possible. But there was something about her face, something about the small scar above her left eyebrow that made his chest ache.

"I..." Her voice faltered as she stepped forward, left hand slightly outstretched. "Let me help with that."

Their fingers brushed as she reached for the control panel.

The fluorescent lights flickered.

Deep below, in Section 7, every rune flared brilliant white for precisely 2.7 seconds.

Lenard's head filled with the scent of hydrangeas.

Eden tasted copper on her tongue.

"I'm Dr. Hayes," she said, but the words felt wrong somehow, incomplete. "Eden Hayes. You're not authorized for this floor, are you?"

"Lenard Oakway. Monitoring Division." His voice sounded distant to his own ears. "I know I shouldn't be here, but..."

"But you had to be," she finished, then blinked, surprised by her own words.

They stood there, coffee forgotten, staring at each other like people trying to read a language they'd once known fluently but had somehow forgotten. Eden's left hand remained suspended between them, trembling slightly. Lenard's right hand ached with the effort of not reaching for it.

"Have we..." Eden started.

"Met before?" Lenard finished.

The break room felt too small suddenly, the air too thick. Somewhere in the building, an alarm began to sound – distant at first, then growing louder. Their phones buzzed simultaneously, emergency alerts flooding the screens.

ALERT: ANOMALY DETECTED - SECTION 7

ALERT: UNAUTHORIZED PATTERN RECOGNITION

ALERT: MAINTENANCE PROTOCOLS ENGAGED

Eden's face went pale. "The runes... they're all turning white."

"Is that bad?" Lenard asked, though something deep in his bones already knew the answer.

"It's impossible," she whispered. "Unless..." Her hand moved unconsciously toward his.

The lights went out.

In the darkness, their hands found each other without thought or hesitation. The contact sent jolts of electricity up their arms, into their minds, into spaces that had been carefully emptied but never quite cleaned. Memories flickered like dying lights – running through tunnels, symbols glowing on walls, promises made in darkness.

The emergency lights kicked in, bathing them in crimson. Eden stared at their joined hands with a mixture of horror and wonder.

"We shouldn't," she breathed, but her fingers tightened around his.

"We shouldn't," he agreed, holding on just as firmly.

Somewhere far below, something mechanical began to move. The Maintenance Protocols had detected an anomaly in the system. Memory fragments were resurfacing. Connections were being remade.

This would need to be corrected.

Again.

The hunt was beginning.

Again.