Lina's fingers loosened on Kai's hand like her body no longer trusted what it was holding.
The false memory burned behind her eyes—sharp, vivid, convincing.
Kai in a corridor. Kai calm. Kai obedient.
"Frame Lina. It will keep her close."
It didn't feel like a hallucination.
It felt like a secret finally revealed.
Lina's chest tightened until she could barely breathe.
Kai looked up at her, pain carved into the line of his brow. "Lina?" he rasped. "What—what happened?"
His voice was real.
His eyes were real.
But the memory…
The memory was new truth wearing Kai's face.
Seren's hand grabbed Lina's wrist. "Lina—talk to me."
Reyon swore under his breath, staring at the Red Room curtain like it was a mouth waiting to swallow them. "Okay. Great. Now we're dealing with cursed false memories during a hostage situation."
The ballroom music surged into the chorus again.
Hands tightened across the dance floor.
Rule #2 demanded contact.
But the crowd was panicking.
Masks were slipping.
People were breaking formation.
And every break made the room… happier.
Like it enjoyed collecting consequences.
Lina's flame flickered black at the edges.
Kai's mark flared again—pain pulsing through him. He gritted his teeth, trying not to stagger.
"Don't look at me like that," Kai whispered, voice rough. "Whatever you saw—"
Lina flinched at his words.
Whatever you saw.
Like he already knew.
Like he expected the accusation.
Her heart twisted.
The Red Room curtain fluttered softly, warm light spilling out like an invitation.
False Mira stood near it, still as a statue, mask perfect, eyes glassy.
"Come in," False Mira whispered. "You'll feel better."
Lina's stomach turned.
That was exactly the kind of lie a trap would tell.
Kai tightened his grip on Lina's hand, trying to pull her away from the Red Room's gravity.
"Lina," he said quietly, urgent. "Say your name."
Lina swallowed hard.
She should.
It was their anchor.
But the false memory made the ritual feel suddenly dangerous—like saying her name to him was handing him the keys to her mind.
Lina's voice came out thin. "Lina… Veris."
Kai's eyes sharpened. "Again."
Lina hesitated.
The ballroom's mirrors brightened.
The silver stands hummed, tasting her doubt.
Seren's voice cracked. "Lina, don't—don't let the room see you hesitate."
Lina forced the words out. "Lina Veris."
Kai exhaled slightly, relief and fear tangled. "Stay real."
"I'm here," Lina whispered—but her gaze slid away from him like it burned.
Kai's jaw tightened. "Look at me."
Lina's pulse spiked.
The false memory flashed again, cruel and certain.
Kai… betraying her.
Lina's voice shook. "Did you—"
Kai's mark flared, and he hissed, shoulders tensing.
The Councilor's voice cut across the ballroom, smooth as a blade:
"Return to the dance. The Founders are watching."
The chorus hit again.
The room demanded hands.
A girl screamed as her partner let go too early—her mask snapped tighter, porcelain creeping like frost.
Seren flinched. "The rules are claiming people."
Reyon's breathing went fast. "Okay. Okay. So we need to stop the room from enforcing rules by… not breaking them. Great. Perfect. Easy. Love that."
Lina stared at the Red Room.
Inside, the real Mira stood still as death.
Her eyes begged.
Lina's bones burned.
But the false memory twisted her instincts—made her afraid to move with Kai, afraid to trust the one person who had stood beside her when everyone doubted her.
Kai's voice went lower. "Lina. That place feeds on fractures. Don't let it split us."
Lina's throat tightened. "How do I know you're not the one splitting us?"
Kai went still.
A heartbeat.
Then his eyes softened, hurt flashing beneath the calm.
"You don't," he said quietly. "Not if it's in your head."
Seren stepped between them slightly, eyes glowing—Soul Echoes gathering like storm clouds.
"I can check it," Seren whispered. "The memory. I can Echo Borrow it—trace the last words around it."
Kai's gaze snapped to Seren. "Don't. If you borrow the wrong echo here—"
Seren's hands shook. "Mira's dying in that room. Kai has seven days on the wall. Lina is—" her voice cracked, "—being poisoned. I don't have time to be gentle."
Seren closed her eyes.
The air around her thickened, like the ballroom's dead moments were pressing into her lungs.
Echo Borrowing.
Seren inhaled—
and her voice changed when she spoke.
Not fully hers.
Older. Colder. Weighted.
"I hear… a corridor," Seren said, voice layered. "Footsteps. A council robe. And—"
Her eyes snapped open, glowing.
"And a lie," she whispered—then the dead voice slid through her mouth like oil:
"Frame her."
Lina's stomach dropped.
Seren flinched hard, as if something inside her bit back.
Then another voice—soft, whispering, not Seren's—spoke through her lips:
"But not like that."
Seren froze, horrified. "It's—talking back again."
Kai's jaw clenched. "Get out of it."
Seren shook her head, tears in her eyes. "I can't—I'm already holding it—"
Lina's heart hammered. "Seren, what did you hear? Was it Kai?"
Seren's eyes flicked to Lina, trembling.
"Not… exactly," Seren whispered, and the layered dead voice slipped again:
"Kai would never say 'keep her close.'"
Lina blinked. "What?"
Seren swallowed hard. "The phrase. The cadence. The intent." She pressed a hand to her throat like it burned. "It's written like a romance villain."
Reyon let out a shaky laugh. "Thank you. Yes. Kai is many things. A romance villain is not one of them."
Kai's gaze stayed locked on Lina. "Listen to Seren."
Lina's breath shook.
Because Seren was right.
The memory did feel… too neat.
Too cinematic.
Like someone had written it specifically to fracture Lina's trust.
Mirror Tax didn't just take.
It planted.
It edited.
It weaponized intimacy.
Lina swallowed hard, eyes burning.
And in that moment, something snapped into focus:
Kai never used the word "close."
He didn't speak like that.
He spoke in edges and restraint.
Even when he was gentle, he didn't sugar-coat.
The false memory was wearing his face, but it was speaking in someone else's voice.
The Red Room curtain fluttered again.
False Mira stepped closer, voice sweet.
"Come in, Lina," she whispered. "You'll see the truth."
Lina's flame trembled.
Kai's grip tightened. "Don't go in there."
Lina looked at him—really looked.
His eyes were pained, furious, terrified—for her, for Mira, for all of them.
Not calculating.
Not obedient.
Not scripted.
The false memory still burned behind her eyes, but now she saw its seams.
A lie frequency.
A too-perfect sentence.
A villain line.
Lina took a shaking breath.
Then did the most dangerous thing she could do in a room that fed on doubt.
She tested truth with a question that could shatter them if the answer was wrong.
She stepped close enough that their masks almost brushed.
Touch anchors.
But intimacy could trigger locks.
She didn't kiss him.
She didn't soften.
She stared into his eyes and whispered, fierce:
"What did you call me… the first time you stopped pretending you didn't care?"
Kai's breath caught.
The ballroom's mirrors brightened like hungry eyes.
The Red Room seemed to go still.
Even False Mira paused, listening.
Because if Kai answered wrong—
Lina would know.
And the lie would win.
Kai's gaze didn't waver.
His voice came out rough, immediate, real:
"Brave."
Lina's bones warmed.
The tether pulsed—steady, true.
And in the warmth, Kai added, so quietly only she could hear:
"Like it scared me."
Lina's throat tightened.
The false memory cracked—splintering like glass under heat.
But the Red Room didn't like losing.
The curtain lifted slightly, wider now—inviting, insistent.
And from inside, Mira's real voice finally slipped out—thin, broken, desperate:
"Lina… it's not just masks… it's—"
A hand—Veilbound, gloved, gentle—covered Mira's mouth.
And the voice that wasn't Mira's whispered from the Red Room doorway, smiling under porcelain:
"You passed the test," it said softly.
"Now come pay the price."
To be Continued© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.