Morning was breaking into perfect colours.
The sky over Novark glowed with digital gold melting into a perfect blue—like the world had been newly painted. Children played, drones hummed, holographic ads were beaming down-the city was vibrant, alive.
Elaine watched from the balcony, the glass reflecting what looked to be a human. Normal.
Too normal.
The mark on her palm – a pale circuit-shaped scar – throbbed once, like a heartbeat that didn't quite belong to her.
She ignored it. Again.
Behind her, the morning news blared about "stability rates" and "memory restoration programs." The words made her chest tighten. Stability was just a polite word for control.
"Grid Security briefing in five," Rhea called from inside the apartment.
"Another glitch report," she said. "A man in District 9 froze mid-stride. Then he said your name."
Elaine looked down at the street.
The people seem happy enough.
They looked alive.
But she knew better.
The world had died once — and somehow, it had forgotten.
The mark pulsed again.
And faintly — beneath the hum of the perfect morning —
Ian's voice whispered through the static of her mind:
"Elaine... do you remember what came before?"