In the morning, the light is grey. And Clara is gone.
I spent the whole night awake on the couch, in the absolute silence of my apartment. Noah dropped me off here around four in the morning, his hands covered in dried blood not his, not Clara's.
He didn't say anything, and neither did I. But when I opened my eyes, he had disappeared.
I look for Clara everywhere. Calls, messages, nothing.
Mila, on the other end of the line, keeps repeating:
"You should go to the police, Léna."
"And tell them what? That a woman who's been dead for three years showed up and collapsed in her ex's arms?"
"Yes. Exactly that."
"They'll lock me up."
She sighs.
"Then at least give me Noah's phone."
I grab it off the table, its screen still lit. But before I can unlock it, a message pops up:
"Reminder: automatic sync in 3 minutes."
And the device shuts down by itself. Black screen. Final.
I pick up my own phone. I want to call Mila.
But it vibrates, and an unknown symbol appears: a pale pink circle, identical to LovLink's.
I freeze.
I deleted it.
The screen turns white. Sentences appear, line by line.
"Hello, Léna." "You are still connected to the Swipe program." "Final phase: post-traumatic observation."
I drop the phone.
"No… no, no, no!"
But a woman's voice comes out of the speaker. Cold. Measured.
"Léna Vouvier. Primary subject. Status: active."
I step back, my heart in my throat.
"Who's speaking?!"
Silence. Then:
"We thank you for your cooperation."
I rush to Mila's place.
She opens the door, terrified by my face.
"Léna? What"
"They're still there! The app rebooted by itself, they talked to me!"
I pour everything out in one breath.
She sits me down, grabs my phone.
"We'll put it in airplane mode."
She looks at it, then goes pale.
"Léna… your screen is still on."
I turn my head.
The pink logo is blinking again. Then words appear:
"Parallel observation: secondary subject M.B."
"That's me," Mila whispers.
She drops the phone, panicked.
"They added me."
A noise in the living room. A tiny, discreet click.
I freeze.
Mila slowly walks toward the wall. Behind a picture frame, a tiny red dot.
"A camera."
"They're filming us here too."
I feel the panic rising.
"They've been following us from the beginning."
"Not just us," Mila murmurs.
"Look."
She opens her laptop again. Dozens of notifications pop up on the screen:
"Swipe Beta Test 53 active profiles." "Phase 4: live broadcast."
I feel my blood turn to ice.
"Broadcast?"
Mila clicks.
A window opens: videos, couples, faces I don't recognize. All filmed in secret.
And at the top of the page, a title:
"Love.Live Emotional interactive experience, powered by Novera."
It's a show. A disguised reality TV.
I jump to my feet.
"Noah knew."
"Maybe," Mila says. "But so did Clara."
"And now she's gone."
I grab my jacket.
"Where are you going?"
"Where it all started."
The canal is empty. The wind has swept away all traces of the night before.
But on the bench lies a phone, soaked, turned off. Noah's.
I pick it up. Under the cracked screen, a folded piece of paper.
I unfold it.
A single sentence, written in black ink:
"If they erase the memory, keep the truth."
At the bottom of the page, three letters scrawled in a hurry:
C.D.
I look around me, shaking.
And in the reflection of the water, for a moment, I think I see a face behind my own. A familiar face.
Clara. Or… me?
I'm no longer sure.
My phone vibrates again.
"Final phase: identity fusion."
I step back, breath cut short.
On the screen, two names appear side by side:
Clara Durand Léna Vouvier.
Then a single line:
"Generated unique profile: CL-AR4_V2."