Night had swallowed the Mnemosyne Clinic once again.
Outside, the wind bent the trees, and the sound of leaves brushing against each other was like a distant tide.
Clara and Adrian hadn't slept.
Ever since Rinaldi had uttered that name, Luca Ferretti, the air around them had shifted. There was a strange pressure, as if something invisible had awakened along with them.
Clara lay on her back, eyes on the cracked ceiling of the abandoned wing they had turned into shelter.Every so often, the neon above her bed flickered, and for a second Adrian seemed to vanish and reappear, like a memory refusing to be caught.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, his voice low in the dark.
"No."
She turned on her side and met his eyes.
"You're still thinking about him, aren't you?"
"About Rinaldi?"
"No. About that name."
Adrian hesitated. His hands were clasped behind his head, his gaze fixed on nothing.
"Yes. But I can't place it. It feels familiar, like a face you almost remember, but every time you try to see it clearly, it fades."
"Maybe someone from your past. A friend… or a colleague."
"Or an enemy."
His whisper sounded heavier than the room.
Then he sat up abruptly.
"I can't keep wondering. I need to know who he was."
"And how do you plan to find out?"
He turned to her. "Everyone who's ever worked with Rinaldi, every patient, every test subject… they're all in the clinic's system. I want to see those files."
Clara pushed herself up.
"The servers are still here."
He nodded.
"Rinaldi never deleted anything. He wasn't the kind to erase evidence, just the kind to hide it."
Rinaldi's office was on the third floor, northern wing. A long corridor lined with pale tiles and flickering neon lights that buzzed like trapped insects.
They walked in silence, their footsteps muffled by dust.
The office door was closed, but Adrian opened it without effort.
A faint click and the room swallowed them in darkness.
It was exactly as they remembered it: a glass desk, shelves full of numbered folders, and a computer monitor still glowing faintly blue.
As if it had been waiting for them.
Clara stepped in first. The air smelled of disinfectant and metal and something sweet, almost electric.
"Don't touch anything yet," Adrian murmured, crouching by the monitor.
"Let me see if there's any security protocol left."
A login field blinked on the screen. No keyboard. No input device.
"Neural lock," he whispered. "It only opens to Rinaldi's brainwave pattern."
Clara tilted her head, a sudden idea forming in her eyes.
"Then… what if we make him open it?"
He looked up. "What do you mean?"
"Rinaldi's still here, Adrian. Maybe his mind's gone, but his body still functions. If we connect his neural sensors to the terminal…"
For a moment, he said nothing. Then a thin smile appeared.
"It might just work."
Ten minutes later, they were back in Room 3B. Rinaldi sat where they'd left him, head bowed, eyes glassy, a ghost of breath moving through him.
Clara connected one cable to the monitor behind his chair, the other to the portable drive Adrian had brought.
Lights blinked, searching for a signal.
The first readings appeared: brain waves in chaos, erratic, fragmented, broken loops of thought.
"It's not reading properly," Clara murmured.
"Wait."
Adrian adjusted a setting, fingers quick.
"It's not about the data, it's about rhythm. If I can align the interface to the pattern of his neural spikes…"
He dragged a control slider, listening to the faint hum of electricity. A single beep echoed. Then another. The monitor blinked:
Access granted.
Clara's breath caught.
"We're in."
They returned to the office. The monitor now displayed a long list of directories, neatly labeled: Subject A, Subject B, Prototype, Cognitive Logs, Project Mnemosyne.
"Where do we start?" Clara asked.
"With the name," Adrian replied, typing Ferretti.
The system processed for a few seconds, then one result appeared:
Luca Ferretti — External Collaborator (Level 3 – Confidential).
Clara frowned.
"Collaborator?"
"Looks like it."
Adrian opened the file but the text was immediately covered in black rectangles.
"It's encrypted," Clara whispered.
"Or erased," he muttered.
Only one line at the top remained visible:
Confidential Agreement – May 18th, 2018.
Clara traced her fingers over the hidden lines, as if she could feel the missing words beneath her skin.
"There might be physical copies. Drives, documents…"
Adrian's gaze moved to a small safe behind the desk.
He already knew.
"Can you open it?" she asked.
"I can try."
He placed his hand on the metal surface and closed his eyes.
No memory came, just a faint echo, a vibration under his skin. Then, suddenly, a flash.
A number. 19.05.18.
The same date on the contract. He turned the dial carefully. Click. The safe opened.
Inside was a red folder marked LUCA FERRETTI and stamped:
Experimental Relevance – Subject A: Adrian M.
Clara's breath caught.
"Oh my God…"
Adrian opened it. Photographs. Reports. Brain charts. And a handwritten note:
Adrian M. displays abnormal cerebral activity during empathy analysis.
Data confirms the testimony of Mr. Ferretti regarding the subject's innate "gift."
Clara looked at him, eyes wide.
"He knew everything about you. Even before you arrived here."
Adrian didn't speak. He turned the pages slowly, as though each word weighed more than he could bear. Then, a photograph.
Two men in a lab, smiling. On the back:
Sometimes the brightest mind is the one that refuses to see. — L.F.
Clara reached for his hand.
"Adrian… who is he?"
He shook his head, but something cracked behind his eyes. A flash of memory, a corridor, a voice, a friendship. And then, betrayal.
I did what I had to do, Adrian. It's for my brother. You understand, don't you?
The words hit him like a bullet from the past.
He dropped the papers.
"Luca Ferretti was my colleague."
Clara froze. "And he sold you to Rinaldi."
"Yes."
His tone was flat, but full of pain.
"For money. Or fear. I don't even know which is worse."
He knelt, picking up a single sheet that had slid away, a contract signed by Luca Ferretti and Alessandro Rinaldi.
"This is proof," Clara whispered.
"We have to destroy it."
Adrian shook his head.
"No. We need to know how far it went."
He was about to close the folder when the monitor flickered. A video file opened on its own.
The image was blurry, but two figures could be made out, Rinaldi and a man sitting across from him.
Luca Ferretti.
Rinaldi's voice was calm, confident:
"What I'm asking of you isn't just a favor, Luca. It's a step toward something greater.
Bring me Adrian, and I'll solve your problem. We both win."
Then Luca's voice, trembling: "And if he finds out?"
"He won't. When I'm done with him, he won't even remember he existed."
The video ended in a burst of static.
Clara and Adrian stood frozen. Only their breathing filled the room.
Adrian closed his eyes. When he opened them, they gleamed like glass.
"Now I know who he was," he said softly.
"And I know why Rinaldi said his name."
"Why?" Clara asked.
Adrian met her gaze.
"Because memory doesn't die, Clara. It hides. And now… it wants to come back."