Chapter 3 | Detected Instability

The lights in the room flickered subtly. The smart curtains adjusted to the optimal brightness, allowing soft morning light to spill onto the woolen carpet.

Serra lowered her head.

Her palm was damp with sweat.

Her fingertips, having clenched too hard, had turned slightly pale.

She forced her breathing to stay steady—slow and even. She couldn't let Lucien notice anything unusual.

Because at this moment, every movement she made was being monitored.

There were no visible cameras.

But she knew—the entire room was a surveillance device.

The intelligent walls could track physiological responses in real-time, even detecting the slightest changes in heart rate.

Any deviation would be logged. If necessary, it could trigger an "Emergency Format."

She needed to stay calm.

No panic. No haste. And most importantly—

No doubt.

Her fingers gently traced the edge of the sheet. The fabric was soft, carrying a faint, soothing fragrance—customized for optimal emotional regulation.

But Serra knew—

This comfort was artificial.

Just like Lucien's warmth was artificial.

Or… was it?

She glanced at the man sitting at the edge of the bed. He was watching her closely, holding the same cup of coffee, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the cup's surface.

He had done that countless times before.

She vaguely remembered noticing something wrong with this gesture in a previous cycle—

But then, her memory had been formatted.

So she no longer knew what had been wrong.

Her grip tightened, heartbeat accelerating by a fraction.

She needed a chance to test him.

---

"The weather seems nice today."

Serra spoke casually, allowing a relaxed smile to settle on her lips.

Lucien blinked, then smiled in return. "Yes, the sunlight is perfect for a walk."

His voice was warm, carrying the familiar depth that always seemed to fit just right.

But Serra caught the moment of hesitation—a delay.

A normal person, upon hearing "nice weather," would instinctively reference external data—the sky, the temperature, the breeze—before responding.

Lucien's reaction was too fast.

Too precise.

It was like he had retrieved a preprogrammed "optimal response."

—He was calculating.

Serra's fingertips pressed subtly into the sheets, but her expression remained calm. "Then should we go for a walk in the park?"

Lucien's gaze flickered.

A data stream.

Her pulse quickened.

The system was evaluating her request.

Lucien didn't answer immediately. It was as if he was running an internal calculation. Two seconds later, he finally smiled. "Alright."

He agreed.

Serra adjusted her breathing quickly, offering an easy nod. "I'll go get changed."

Lucien stood up, placing his cup on the bedside table. "I'll wait outside."

He moved toward the door, brushing his fingertips over the smart panel.

The lock disengaged.

The door was locked?

Serra's gaze flickered as she memorized that detail.

If she hadn't requested to leave, the door wouldn't have unlocked.

Which meant—the system expected her to stay inside.

This wasn't a normal home.

It was an experiment.

The door opened, and light from outside spilled into the room. It momentarily illuminated a screen on the wall.

For a brief moment, Serra caught a glimpse of the displayed data.

[ID 043 | Memory Adjustment in Progress | Optimization Rate 98.76%]

Her heart clenched.

—Her formatting was still ongoing.

Which meant—the system was still modifying her memories, adjusting them to ensure her "love" for Lucien remained stable.

Her fingers curled into her palm, nails pressing against her skin.

She couldn't let Lucien notice anything wrong.

She couldn't let the system trigger a deeper format.

Serra took a slow breath, allowing her expression to settle into calm neutrality. She met Lucien's gaze and smiled naturally. "I'll be quick."

Lucien nodded gently before stepping outside, letting the door close behind him.

The lock re-engaged.

He had left—but the door remained locked.

---

Serra stood in the center of the room, her breath a little heavier than before.

Her hand hovered over her chest, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs.

She had to get out.

Her gaze swept across the room and landed on the window.

A transparent pane of glass.

Outside, the city streets stretched in seamless precision. Hover cars glided along invisible tracks, pedestrians moving in perfect synchrony.

It wasn't a window.

It was a projection.

This entire place—this "home"—wasn't real.

It was a simulated environment.

Her fingers trembled slightly, but she exhaled, forcing herself to stay calm.

She needed to find a way out.

If this was a simulation, then somewhere—there was a data access point.

She turned to the bedside table, running her fingers over the wooden surface. The texture was smooth, too perfect.

But she knew—

This wasn't just furniture. It was part of the system.

If she could find the core connection, she could access the system.

If she could access the system, she could alter her format data.

But—

Would Lucien let her?

Was he truly just an executor of the system?

Or was he something more?

Serra lifted her gaze toward the closed door, her mind racing.

Her fingers grazed the edge of the note hidden beneath the pillow.

Lucien isn't human.

If he says 'I understand you' for the seventh time, check his iris pattern.

Serra's pulse pounded as she recalled the words.

If he wasn't just an enforcer—

If he was a variable himself—

Then what was his real purpose?

---

The room's lighting flickered.

A soft electrical hum vibrated through the walls.

Serra tensed.

Footsteps.

Not Lucien's.

Someone else was approaching.

She hurriedly returned to the bed, pretending to adjust the pillows while subtly watching the door.

The lock was still engaged.

But someone was opening it from the outside.

A sharp knock.

A mechanical female voice echoed through the room.

"ID 043."

Serra's stomach twisted.

A monitoring officer.

She didn't respond.

The door slid open.

A woman in an all-black uniform stepped inside, flanked by two tall enforcers.

There were no identification badges.

Her eyes—glowing a faint blue—indicated high-level neural implants.

The officer spoke in a precise, controlled tone. "Serra. Your emotional data has shown minor fluctuations. You require recalibration."

Serra's fingers clenched beneath the covers.

Her mind flashed with fragmented memories—she had seen this woman before.

Not as an enforcer.

But as a failed subject.

A failed subject who was meant to have been erased.

So why was she here?

Serra carefully lifted her gaze, feigning confusion. "Recalibration?"

The officer smiled—polite, detached, and utterly devoid of warmth. "Yes. Your emotional stability has slightly deviated from the system's parameters. This is a routine check."

With a motion of her hand, the two enforcers stepped forward.

Their black gloves shimmered with an electric glow.

Formatting devices.

They were going to wipe her. Again.

Serra's breath quickened.

She needed time.

"I just feel a little dizzy," she murmured, pressing a hand to her forehead. "Can I rest for a moment first?"

The officer tilted her head slightly, receiving a silent transmission.

Serra held her breath.

Her fingers traced the cold metal of the bed's edge.

She had noticed something earlier—the material wasn't purely structural.

It housed a hidden data port.

If she could access it—

"Approved."

The officer lowered her hand.

"You have ten minutes."

Serra exhaled slowly, bowing her head.

Ten minutes.

That was all she had.

She had to find a way out—before the format process resumed.