Chapter 2 | The First Crack in Perfection
The morning remained frozen in its artificial tranquility.
Serra lay still, her breath steady, but beneath the sheets, her fingers curled into a fist.
She was remembering.
The system hadn't accounted for that.
She had to move carefully.
Her eyes remained closed, her body relaxed, as she listened. Lucien's presence lingered beside the bed, his breathing even, calculated. The subtle hum of the city outside filled the silence—the synchronized footsteps, the hovercars gliding on invisible rails, the distant drone of automated news broadcasts.
She strained to hear something—anything—imperfect.
But there was nothing.
Everything was too smooth. Too predictable.
Too controlled.
A soft click.
Lucien was placing the tablet back onto the nightstand.
"Get some rest," he murmured, his voice gentle. "I'll prepare breakfast."
She waited until she heard the door slide shut.
Then, and only then, did she open her eyes.
Serra's heartbeat pounded against her ribs. Her fingers moved swiftly, reaching under the pillow for the note she had left herself.
"You have been reset 352 times." "Lucien is not human. He is a 'Correctionist.'" "If he says 'I understand you' for the seventh time, check his iris pattern."
Correctionist.
Her grip tightened around the paper.
She had no idea what that word fully meant—but she was certain of one thing.
Lucien was not what he seemed.
Her gaze flicked toward the tablet he had left behind.
The lock screen displayed nothing but a sleek, mirrored black surface.
She hesitated.
It could be monitored.
But she had no time to waste.
She reached for it.
The screen lit up.
[Access Restricted]
A red warning flashed, followed by a biometric scan prompt.
Serra inhaled sharply, pulling her hand back before the device could register her attempt.
No fingerprints. No face recognition.
Just an empty prompt.
Her chest tightened.
It was waiting for something.
Or someone.
Her.
A test.
The system was watching.
She forced her hands to still, retreating from the tablet. If she triggered an alert, she would lose her only advantage—Lucien still believed she was unaware.
She needed information.
A way out.
A way to break the loop.
Her gaze landed on the bedside drawer.
Carefully, silently, she pulled it open.
Inside, neatly arranged, was a single silver card.
Identical to the one Lucien had given her earlier.
Her stomach churned.
She flipped it over.
[353]
Same number.
Her pulse quickened.
Something was wrong.
Her fingers pressed against the edge of the card.
It was warm.
Not metal.
Not plastic.
Something else.
She flipped it back.
The number flickered.
[352]
A breath caught in her throat.
Her memory stability score was dropping.
Serra clenched her teeth.
She wasn't just at risk of being reset.
The process had already begun.
A whisper of panic curled around her ribs.
She had to act. Now.
She stuffed the card back, closed the drawer, and slid out of bed.
Her movements were swift but soundless.
She had to be fast.
Lucien wouldn't be gone for long.
The floor was unnervingly smooth under her bare feet as she moved toward the wardrobe.
She had no memory of what she would find inside.
The doors slid open with a faint hiss.
Rows of identical outfits lined the space.
Neatly pressed, color-coded.
Every piece an exact match to what she had worn yesterday.
And the day before that.
And the day before that.
Her stomach twisted.
Her hands hovered over the fabrics.
Somewhere, buried within this precision, there had to be a flaw.
A crack in perfection.
She reached for a jacket, feeling along the seams.
Nothing.
She grabbed another.
And then—
Her fingers brushed against something stiff.
Something hidden.
She froze.
A tiny, paper-thin slit beneath the collar lining.
She dug her nails in.
A chip.
Cold and metallic.
Her breath hitched.
A tracker.
Lucien had been monitoring her movements.
Her throat went dry.
Everywhere she went.
Everything she did.
Every single step.
She was never free.
A click.
The bedroom door.
Her entire body stiffened.
She barely had time to react.
Lucien stepped inside, a tray balanced in his hands.
"Serra," he greeted warmly. "You're up."
Her fingers clenched around the fabric.
Her mind raced.
He had noticed.
Or had he?
She forced a small, sleepy smile, letting go of the jacket.
"Yeah," she exhaled, voice light. "I was feeling a little restless."
Lucien's gaze swept over her, his expression unreadable.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
"That's alright," he said, setting the tray down. "I made your favorite."
He lifted the lid.
A perfectly plated breakfast.
Her favorite.
Always her favorite.
Even though she had no memory of ever choosing it.
"Come," he urged. "Eat."
Serra hesitated.
Lucien was watching.
Every movement.
Every breath.
Every thought.
She lowered herself into the chair.
Slowly.
Carefully.
She lifted the fork.
And as she took her first bite, she smiled.
A smile that was nothing but a carefully calculated lie.
Because now she knew.
She wasn't just trying to escape.
She was trying to survive.