Silence came before the light.
A deep, hollow silence, the kind that follows an explosion, dense and unreal.
Clara opened her eyes.
The air was heavy with dust and ozone, the walls bent inward as if they had breathed too hard.
The smell of metal and smoke scraped her throat.
She moved, just a little and Adrian's body fell against hers, limp and warm.
His head rested on her chest, his face pale, lips half open, eyes closed.
"Adrian…"
His name left her mouth like a broken breath.
She shook him softly. Then harder. Nothing.
"No, no, please…"
Her hand trembled on his neck, searching for a pulse. Weak. So weak it felt imagined.
A step behind her.
Rinaldi.
Untouched, immaculate, as if the chaos had never reached him.
He looked at them with the satisfaction of a man who had finished a masterpiece.
He tapped something on his tablet, voice calm and flat: "Subject A: inactive. Integration complete."
Clara turned sharply, her voice breaking.
"You killed him!"
"The process requires loss," he replied. "It's the nature of progress."
"This isn't progress. It's cruelty."
Rinaldi closed the tablet.
"Every system seeks balance. Adrian was the excess."
He leaned closer, eyes cold. "And you, Clara, you are the result. Perfect. Stable. Alive."
She lunged toward him, but a piercing sound exploded inside her head.
Her knees gave out. The floor tilted sideways.
Darkness swallowed everything.
When she opened her eyes again, the light had changed.
White. Still.
A hospital room, or something pretending to be one.
Sheets too clean, air too still.
A steady beep somewhere near her right ear.
The door opened.
Rinaldi walked in.
He moved quietly, as if the sound itself obeyed him.
"Welcome back," he said softly.
She stared at him, silent.
"It's over," he continued. "The system stabilized."
Her throat burned. "He's dead."
"The network is balanced. Something had to give."
"'Something' had a name," she hissed. "Adrian."
He paused, only for a heartbeat.
"Don't you think he wanted this?"
"Wanted to die?"
"Wanted to complete you."
She threw the glass of water from the bedside table.
It shattered against the wall. Rinaldi didn't flinch.
"Anger is a residue," he murmured. "It will fade."
"And you'll fade with it," she said between clenched teeth. "Because I'll find you. I'll end you."
He almost smiled.
"Coherence can't be destroyed, only understood."
He turned toward the door. "Rest. You'll need clarity."
He left.
The door closed softly, like a breath being held.
Clara stayed still.
The sound of the monitor filled the room, too slow, too alive.
She stared at the IV, then ripped it out.
Blood ran down her arm, but she didn't care.
Barefoot, she crossed the floor to the window.
Rain. Thin, endless.
It slid down the glass like upside-down tears.
She pressed her forehead against the cold surface.
"You shouldn't have left me. Not now."
Her reflection trembled. And then, a whisper.
Clara… don't cry.
Her breath caught.
She turned sharply. No one.
"Adrian?"
Silence. Only the soft beep of the machine.
Then again, closer, clearer, inside her head:
I told you I'd never leave you.
Her hands went to her temples.
"This isn't real. You're gone."
Maybe. Or maybe not entirely.
She fell to her knees, trembling.
"Can you hear me?"
I can. Can you hear me, Clara?
"Yes."
Then it's not over.
Clara stood again, slow and unsteady.
Her eyes burned, but her pulse was steady.
She turned toward the mirror above the sink.
In the reflection, behind her, a shadow.
Tall. Still.
Adrian.
She spun around. Empty air. Only the faint sound of rain.
Then his voice, closer, gentle, right at her ear: Don't leave me again.
Clara closed her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek as she whispered, "Never again."