The Empty Room
The hum of servers slowed to a dying rhythm.
Lex caught Muri just before she collapsed, her body limp, her face pale and calm—like someone who had finished running from a lifelong storm.
"Muri?" he whispered, brushing hair from her face. "Rhea?"
Her eyes fluttered open.
But they didn't focus.
"Do you know me?" he asked.
She stared at him blankly. "I... should."
Tears welled in his eyes.
He didn't care. She was alive.
"I'm Lex," he whispered. "You're safe now. It's over."
But as he helped her stand, a faint glint flickered across the vault screen behind him.
Unnoticed. Quiet.
A line of code scrolled across the black terminal:
> [FRAGMENT TRANSFER: 12%... 47%... 89%... COMPLETE]
New Host: L-012 // Status: Dormant
The Quiet Change
Over the next week, Muri stayed silent.
She remembered basic things—language, movement, comfort in Lex's presence—but her past was wiped clean.
She no longer feared. No longer flinched.
But she also no longer felt.
Lex tried to adjust. He helped her walk. Brought her food. Protected their daughter.
But late one night, as he stood in front of the mirror in their safehouse bathroom, he felt something strange.
A whisper.
Not in words.
Just an impression.
Like another mind… brushing against his.
He leaned over the sink, breathing hard.
And for a split second—his reflection moved before he did.
Hello Again
Micah and Sky returned with the baby. The safehouse was quiet. Muri stared out the window, her expression peaceful but unreadable.
Lex didn't tell them what he saw in the mirror.
He didn't tell anyone about the dreams he'd started having.
Of mirrors.
Of bleeding wires.
Of a voice that wasn't his own.
That night, as he watched his daughter sleep, he whispered:
> "Everything's going to be okay."
But as he turned to leave the room, his reflection remained behind, lips curling into a smile.
And from deep inside his mind, a voice answered:
> "Hello again, Muri. You didn't erase me. You just moved me."
> "And now I'm exactly where I need to be."