Chapter 17 – "A Life That Isn’t Mine"
Riven wakes up to sunlight filtering through the window, the warmth of morning pressing against his skin. His breath is unsteady, his heart hammering like a war drum.
He sits up, expecting to find himself back in the cold grip of the Hollow City, or worse, trapped in the void between realities. But no—he's in a home.
Not his.
The bedroom is unfamiliar, yet too familiar. The furniture is neatly arranged, the walls are lined with books he doesn't recognize but somehow knows he's read. The scent of coffee drifts from the kitchen, as if someone has just made a fresh cup for him.
His stomach twists. He knows what this is. Another Rewrite.
But this one is different.
It isn't erasing him completely—it's replacing him.
He moves cautiously, every step feeling like it might send the illusion crashing down. But the world doesn't flicker. The walls don't dissolve into static. The floors don't crumble into an endless void. Instead, it holds.
And then he hears her voice.
"Hey, you're up early."
His blood runs cold.
He turns slowly, heart in his throat. And there she is—Emery.
The woman he loved. The woman who died years ago.
She's standing in the doorway, smiling like nothing is wrong, wearing one of his shirts like she used to on lazy mornings. The sight of her nearly breaks him.
"Bad dream?" she asks, voice soft, tilting her head like she always did when she worried about him.
Riven's hands tremble. He clenches them into fists.
This isn't real. It can't be real.
"Yeah," he forces out, voice hoarse. "Something like that."
She steps closer, concern flickering in her warm brown eyes. "You okay?"
Riven can't breathe. He doesn't know if this is a test, a trick, or something worse. Every instinct screams at him to run—to tear through the illusion and find the cracks.
But a part of him hesitates.
Because it's her.
Because for the first time in years, she's here.
He forces himself to nod, to play along. "I'm fine," he lies. "Just need a minute."
She doesn't press, just leans in and presses a kiss to his temple, lingering for a moment before pulling away. "I'll be in the kitchen. I made your coffee the way you like it."
He watches her go, his entire body frozen.
This isn't happening. This shouldn't be happening.
But the way she moves, the way she speaks—it's too perfect. Not robotic, not forced. If this is an illusion, it's the most flawless one yet.
He turns to the mirror across the room. What he sees nearly stops his heart.
He isn't himself.
The scars he's earned over years of battle—gone. The exhaustion that weighed his body down, the toll of fighting against the Monarch's warping reality—erased.
He looks younger. Healthier.
Like he never lived through the nightmares. Like he never lost anything.
Riven staggers back, gripping the edges of the dresser. His breathing is sharp and shallow. His mind is screaming at him—this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.
But then he looks at the framed photo sitting on the nightstand.
It's a picture of him and Emery. Laughing, happy. It never existed before.
And yet… he remembers taking it.
A deep chill settles into his bones. The Monarch isn't just rewriting the world around him. It's rewriting him.
It's not trying to erase him.
It's trying to make him believe.
---
Later That Day
Riven moves through this false life like a ghost. Every moment is a battle between instinct and reason.
The world around him is too perfect. The city streets are clean, the people are kind, and there's a rhythm to life that feels too well-constructed. There are no flickers, no distortions, no signs of the unraveling that plagued the real world.
For the first time in years, there are no heroes. No threats. No war.
He's just… a man. Living a normal life. With her.
And it's suffocating.
Because it isn't his life.
At lunch, he watches Emery as she talks about a friend from work, her voice animated, her hands gesturing like they always did. She's real. So painfully real that it's killing him inside.
He wants to hold onto this.
But he can't.
Because he remembers the truth.
He remembers the battles. The war. The people he fought alongside. He remembers Vera.
The note.
"Find Vera."
He still doesn't know how he wrote it—if it was a future version of himself, or if some part of his real self left it behind. But it's the only proof he has that his past still exists.
He grips his glass of water, the weight of everything pressing down on him.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees something that makes his stomach drop.
A man sitting at the next table. Staring at him.
The man isn't blinking. He isn't eating. He's just watching.
Riven stiffens. He looks back at Emery—she hasn't noticed. The restaurant is full of people, all caught up in their perfect little lives.
He turns back.
The man is gone.
A shiver crawls down Riven's spine.
There it is. The first crack in the illusion.
This world isn't real. And someone is watching to make sure he never figures that out.