The first thing Anne felt was… lightness.
Not the "I've been blessed by inner peace" kind.
More like: someone just emptied an entire Dropbox folder out of my soul.
Memories she didn't know were hers aligned into place like a thousand puzzle pieces she'd been choking on for years. Her mother's voice still echoed faintly in her ears:
> "Wake up. And remember."
Javier helped her sit up. His face was pale, eyes wide.
"Anne?"
She blinked. "Anne. Kira. Anne-Kira. The artist formerly known as 'Hot Mess'—honestly, pick one."
He exhaled. "You're… you."
She gave him a crooked smile. "Yup. Fully rebooted. New software update includes better sarcasm filters and 37% more emotional instability."
Javier gave a short laugh—half relieved, half terrified.
Then the lights flickered again.
A low, mechanical growl echoed through the chamber.
> "Unauthorized merge confirmed. Core destabilization imminent."
"Oh no," Anne muttered. "Not again. Didn't we already do the whole 'threatening AI kill sequence' bit?"
Javier checked the console. "The system's rejecting your integration. The merge wasn't supposed to work—it's rewriting the codebase from the inside."
Anne grinned. "So, I'm basically glitching the simulation just by existing. Love that for me."
He frowned. "You're rewriting reality."
"Okay but not on purpose," she said. "I'm barely qualified to rewrite grocery lists."
Suddenly the entire room trembled.
The floor beneath them cracked open—revealing a glowing, geometric void that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Anne swore. "Okay, why is there always a dimension crack? Why can't we ever just have a normal confrontation in, like, a Denny's parking lot?"
> "Final memory gate: unlocked."
A platform rose from the center of the void.
On it sat one thing:
A sealed white journal.
Anne's breath hitched.
Javier squinted. "What is it?"
"It's her journal," Anne whispered. "My mom's. The original logs. Before the simulations. Before everything."
She stepped toward it.
The air shimmered around her like reality was blinking—unsure whether it should collapse or let her keep walking.
She picked up the journal.
It felt… warm.
And suddenly—everything stopped.
No more rumbling. No more alarms. Just silence.
She opened the first page.
There, in delicate handwriting:
> "To my daughter. Whichever version of you finds this… I want you to know, you were always meant to be whole."
Anne's throat closed.
She flipped through.
Schematics. Memory blueprints. Early merge concepts. Notes about Kira's emotional crashes. Anne's painting simulations. And then…
One last entry.
> "If she finds this… she will have a choice. To reset, forget, and live quietly. Or to carry it all. And step out of the dream."
Anne looked up at Javier.
He was watching her, softly. Bracing.
"So this is the part where I pick the red pill or the blue one?"
"Basically," he said. "If you step through that tear, you wake up in the real world. Whatever's left of it."
Anne hesitated.
"Do you think she's out there?" she asked. "My mom. The real her."
Javier nodded. "I think she left this for you because she believed you'd be strong enough."
Anne looked down at the journal.
Then at him.
"Are you coming with me?"
Javier didn't flinch. "Only if you want me to."
She reached out.
Took his hand.
"I told you not to fall for me," she said.
"And I ignored you like a champion," he said. "No regrets."
They stepped forward.
Toward the fracture.
Reality buzzed, sparked—protested.
Anne turned back once, just once, to glance at the world collapsing behind her.
The girl she used to be.
The dreams.
The pain.
Then she stepped into the void.
Holding tight to his hand.