The screen glowed with the cold, indifferent light of a terminal window, casting sharp shadows across the peeling wallpaper.
Thousands of file paths scrolled endlessly, a digital graveyard of our own logic gates.
Iteration_0001_Kyouya.log
Iteration_0002_Kyouya.log
Iteration_0843_Kyouya.log
I stared at the numbers, letting my eyes unfocus.
The Share-Lock was completely silent for a moment.
It wasn't a peaceful silence; it was the psychological equivalent of holding your breath while a predator walks past your hiding spot. Velvet was standing right beside me, but the tether connecting our nervous systems felt like a live wire completely submerged in ice.
Who is the real one?
How many times have I sat on this exact rusted bed, holding this exact machine, thinking I was the first one to figure it out? How many times did I look at her, thinking I was outsmarting the Admin, only to trigger a fatal logic loop?
