Dr. Elara Voss adjusted the neural interface, its cold metal pressing against Kael’s temple as he sat motionless in the chair. The lab hummed with the low thrum of machines, a sound that had become as familiar as her own heartbeat. She watched the data stream flicker across the screen—alpha waves spiking, then collapsing into silence. Kael’s eyes remained open, unblinking, pupils dilated like twin voids.
“You’re not dreaming,” she said, her voice steady. “You’re rewriting.”
He didn’t respond, but the screen shifted. A cascade of images bloomed—trees bending in a storm, a child’s laugh echoing through a sunlit field, the scent of rain on asphalt. Elara’s breath hitched. These weren’t his memories. They were hers.
The machine whined. Kael’s fingers twitched. Elara leaned forward, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. “What did you do?”
“I unmade it,” he whispered. “Everything I touched, I unmade.”
She froze. The words slithered through her, coiling around the edges of her thoughts. “That’s impossible.”
“You’re the one who made it possible,” he said. “You built the device. You gave me the key.”
Elara staggered back, her hand brushing the edge of the desk. The chair creaked as Kael turned his head, his gaze locking onto hers. “They told me to forget,” he said. “But I remember. I remember everything.”
The lab’s lights flickered. A low hum vibrated through the walls, a sound she hadn’t noticed before. Elara’s fingers trembled as she reached for the console, her eyes scanning the data. The numbers were wrong—shifting, unstable, like a river of ink spilled across glass.
“What are you hiding?” she demanded.
Kael’s smile was a blade. “You already know.”
—
The first memory slipped away the next morning. Elara stood in the doorway of her apartment, staring at the empty space where her coffee mug should have been. The scent of burnt beans lingered, but the mug—her favorite, chipped along the rim—was gone. She reached for it, her hand brushing air.
“Elara?” Her roommate’s voice echoed from the kitchen. “You okay?”
She turned, her throat tight. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
The woman frowned but didn’t press. Elara wandered to the window, her reflection blurred in the glass. She traced the crack near the corner, a scar she’d never noticed before. Had it always been there?
That night, she dreamt of the lab. Kael’s voice whispered through the static, his words unraveling like thread pulled from a seam. She woke with the taste of copper in her mouth, her hands clawing at the sheets. The memory of her mother’s laughter was gone—erased, like a page torn from a book.
She returned to the lab the next day, her boots crunching on gravel as she approached the building. The doors swung open without a sound, as if waiting for her. Inside, the air smelled of ozone and antiseptic. Kael sat in his chair, his head tilted back, eyes closed.
“You’re losing them,” he said without opening his eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she lied.
He chuckled, a sound like shattering glass. “You remember the first time you met me?”
Elara’s stomach twisted. “I don’t—”
“You do,” he interrupted. “You told me I was the first subject who didn’t scream.”
The words struck her like a physical blow. She had no memory of that conversation, yet the details were vivid, too precise to be imagined.
“What are you doing to me?” she whispered.
Kael’s eyes snapped open, black irises reflecting the sterile light. “You’re asking the wrong question,” he said. “The real one is: What did they do to you?”
—
The second memory vanished during a session. Elara sat across from Kael, her fingers curled around the edge of the table. The machine’s hum had grown louder, a constant vibration in her bones.
“Tell me about the day you arrived,” she said, her voice tight.
Kael’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His head tilted to the side, as if listening to something only he could hear. Then, abruptly, he spoke. “You brought me here,” he said. “You said I was the key.”
Elara’s pulse roared in her ears. “That’s not true.”
“It is,” he said. “You remember, don’t you? The lab beneath the city, the files hidden in the archives. You saw what they were doing.”
Her breath caught. A flicker of something—fear, maybe—slipped through her chest. “What were they doing?”
Kael’s smile was hollow. “Erasing,” he said. “They weren’t just rewriting memories. They were unmaking them. Every person who entered that lab, every file they accessed—they disappeared. Not just their memories, but their lives.”
Elara’s hands shook. “That’s impossible.”
“You know it’s not,” he said. “You felt it. The gaps in your own mind. The things you can’t remember but *know* you should.”
She wanted to deny it, to lash out, but the words stuck in her throat. A memory surfaced—her father’s voice, distant and muffled, saying something about a project called *Eidolon*. Then it was gone, leaving only a hollow ache in her chest.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
Kael leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. “Because you’re the last one who remembers.”
—
The third memory slipped away during a nightmare. Elara stood in a hallway, the walls closing in around her. The air smelled of damp concrete and something metallic—blood, maybe. She turned, and there he was: Dr. Malachai Renn, her former mentor, his face a blur of shadows.
“You shouldn’t have come back,” he said. His voice was a rasp, like gravel in a bottle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, though the words felt false.
Renn’s eyes narrowed. “You remember the files. The ones they buried. The ones they *erased*.”
Elara’s stomach twisted. A memory surfaced—her hands on a keyboard, typing frantically, her breath coming in short gasps. She was deleting something, but what?
“What did I do?” she asked.
Renn’s smile was a knife. “You helped them. You were their best work. The one who could see the patterns, who could *unmake* the past.”
The memory shattered. Elara woke with a scream lodged in her throat, her hands clawing at the sheets. The details were gone, but the weight of them remained, pressing against her ribs like a stone.
She returned to the lab that night, her boots echoing in the empty halls. Kael sat in his chair, his head bowed.
“They’re coming,” he said without looking up.
“Who?”
“The ones who built the machine.”
Elara’s pulse hammered. “You told me they were dead.”
Kael’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing. “They’re not. They never were. And they’re coming for you next.”
—
The final memory vanished during the confrontation. Elara stood in the heart of the lab, her hands trembling as she faced Renn. The machine loomed behind him, its wires coiled like serpents.
“You don’t understand,” Renn said, his voice a low growl. “We’re saving them. Erasing the pain, the suffering. A clean slate.”
“You’re murdering them,” she spat.
Renn’s eyes darkened. “And you’re the last one who remembers. That’s why you have to go, too.”
Elara’s breath came in short bursts. The memory of her mother’s laughter was gone, but the ache of it remained. She reached for the console, her fingers brushing the edge of the machine.
“No,” she said. “I won’t let you.”
Renn stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “You don’t have a choice.”
The machine whined. The lights flickered. Elara’s vision blurred, the edges of her thoughts unraveling. A memory surfaced—her father’s face, his voice whispering, “They’re coming for you.” Then it was gone, leaving only the weight of it in her chest.
She didn’t know what happened after that. Only that when she opened her eyes, the lab was empty. The machine was silent. And the memories she had lost were gone forever.
