The Memory Between Us
Prague – 2:03 AM
Rhea lay on her side beneath the heavy rooftop blanket, watching Lex's silhouette as he stood by the low wall, his face lit only by the city lights and the pale glow of his cigarette.
She said softly, "I didn't know you smoked."
Lex gave a tired smile. "I didn't. Until Geneva."
He turned and came back to her, dropping the cigarette and crushing it under his boot. The night had turned colder, but his gaze was warm—darker, somehow, since their kiss. Not just desire. Recognition.
Like he could finally see her for the first time in years, and all it did was hurt more.
He sat beside her, close. Close enough to brush a lock of hair from her cheek.
"Do you remember," he asked, "the field of mirrors?"
She nodded, slowly. "You carried me when I couldn't walk. I was bleeding, and still trying to tell jokes."
He laughed. "You said, 'If we die here, at least I'll reflect on it.'"
Rhea groaned into the blanket. "That was terrible even then."
Lex leaned in. "You always did know how to make the worst moments feel lighter."
She met his eyes. "And you always knew how to make me feel safe."
There was a long pause.
Then she whispered, "I thought I forgot you. But sometimes when I was with Manik... I'd say something, or smile a certain way—and he'd look at me like he knew it didn't belong to him."
Lex's voice was soft, but edged. "Did you love him?"
Rhea didn't flinch this time.
"No," she said. "I think part of me loved the fact that he didn't ask me to remember."
Lex reached for her hand—threading his fingers through hers.
"I ask," he said. "Because even if it hurts, I want the truth."
She looked at him, heart bare. "Then here it is: I still love you. I think I always did. Even when I didn't know your name."
He pulled her gently toward him, forehead to forehead, and whispered, "Then come back to me."
They kissed again—slower this time, aching. Like they weren't sure how long the peace would last. Like they were remembering a rhythm they'd once lived in.
Beneath them, the Geneva drive flickered to life on its own.
And in India—
Sky's body arched like it had been struck by lightning.
Micah and Shivin barely caught him as he collapsed.
Sky's voice echoed in a half-scream, half-whisper:
> "She's still in love with him."
Shivin stared at the screen.
"The drive's active again," he muttered. "But no one touched it. Someone's syncing."
Micah looked down at Sky—his body trembling, tears leaking from his eyes, but his voice no longer his own.
> "You're not just a witness anymore, Sky," Shivin said. "You're becoming part of their bond."