Every secret has a shadow—and sooner or later, shadows move on their own.
It was the Soul Archives director, Levi Morgan—composed as ever, clipboard tucked neatly under one arm. Sandy brown hair, cropped short at the sides, a little longer on top. There was something steady in his blue eyes, shifting with the light, and a weariness clung to him like someone who'd carried too many secrets. A rough stubble softened none of his sharp angles, and the uniform coat hung loose, hinting at strength beneath the casual ease.
"Everything looking intact this morning?" he asked, polite but easy. Always deliberate, never rushed, as if waiting to see which version of me would answer.
"Yes," I said quickly, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.
He tilted his head slightly, studying me with his all-knowing, charming smile. "You okay? You seem a little jumpy."
His height made me feel like a child; my five-four frame barely reached his shoulder. His voice was calm, but a sharpness lay beneath it. I hated how easily he read me while revealing nothing of himself. Sometimes I wondered if he already knew what I'd done, and this was his way of letting me know he was watching.
"Sorry, you caught me off guard. Lost in a daydream," I mumbled, staring back up at Hasley.
"Ah. Got it." He smiled, understanding somehow.
"She's a lot to measure up to, isn't she?" He joined me in the admiration, although it wasn't just admiration anymore for me.
"Yeah, sometimes I wonder what her life was like before all of this." I gestured to the whole process of merging.
"I bet life was simpler then." He said with no hesitation, no question.
"You seem to know everything, don't you? I couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Well, let's get to work, shall we?" He returned the smile and waved for me to lead the way, glancing at the red glow that began pulsing from his wrist.
Then he sighed—not annoyance, but a faint disappointment. "I'll be upstairs. HQ wants the integration metrics from the legacy merge files before noon."
Legacy merges were always trickier—older files, glitchy interfaces, emotional logs that didn't translate cleanly—but they mattered. These were the first bonds the world ever trusted in science after the success of Hasley and Emerson.
"Good luck with that," I said, keeping my path.
Levi turned away, leaving me with my secret burning like a brand beneath my skin. He was so inviting that I almost told him, but there was no way I could, especially since he's on his way upstairs. That red glow may have saved me from making a mistake. He always makes me feel safe, in a bubble just the two of us, and I forget the world around me in his presence. He has been a great boss since I started here.
I headed back toward the basement, though not as deep as before. I decided not to tell Levi about the error until I had finished reading the journal first. This secret wasn't ready to share. Not yet. Yet my secrets were piling up, each one carrying gut-wrenching guilt. If Atropa found out I'd taken something without reporting it, I didn't know what would happen. But I had to take that chance and get to know Hasley. I just hope I don't get caught before I finish.
I walked past a few people, enjoying the quiet. First-time visitors' curiosity caught glimpses of my own first memory here. How young I was, and the tour guide found me annoying because I asked a question at every chance. I kept walking back to the stairs, avoiding questions and workers, and suddenly feeling sorry for that tour guide.
Luck was on my side today.
I made it to my office without being stopped. The room smelled of freshly picked lemons. The floral conservator mastered the rebirth of lemon trees long ago and has one of the assistants leave a basket of fresh lemons on everyone's desk. I always loved the strong smell and how refreshing it was to bite into one. Sometimes I wonder if the person who runs the museum agreed to this because they also love lemons, or because it is perceived to curb hunger, and the workers won't need to be distracted by it. Although it never worked for me, I bring in all my lunches and eat while I work, never leaving unless I absolutely have to.
I didn't need to. Everything was already down here, and I loved it. The calming navy blue walls swallowed the light, cocooning me in quiet. The art I'd chosen from old archives hung like ghosts of other lives, displayed just for me. Sometimes I caught myself staring at them too long, wondering if they felt as trapped as I did, frozen in time but never truly alive. Yet it felt like a home away from home.
I could hide away and work in peace until Calliope inevitably showed up with gossip. My best friend, who kept me tethered, and I needed that tether more than ever until I figured out what I've done. Or a way to tell her. She tells me everything, an open book, and here I am hardly telling her a thing. I just don't know how to say,
"Hey, I've been seeing someone, but yeah, he's dead now, so I guess I'm single again. And yes, it has wrecked me because I loved him so much, but never told you about it. Mainly because he was so secretive and private, and my heart would do whatever he suggested."
She would be angry with both of us. She wouldn't be able to tell me how much she already doesn't like him because it's ill will to speak of the dead like that, and I don't think I could handle hearing it right now. I love her and all her insight, but this could ruin our friendship. I think it's best I just bottle it up for now.
After a few hours sifting through dusty materials, including tokens from soul-bound lives, I finally settled at my desk to digitize files.
I shifted, swearing I heard footsteps outside my door, but nothing was there. Then my threadband went off, startling me. I jumped before realizing it was nothing, just the message of the day, "Reminder, The festival is this weekend, no extracurricular activities to be held at the museum during this time. See you all there. Be happy and be merged!" The same reminder all week, as if we could forget about the festival that happens every year. Although I'd like to this year.
I digitized the first few files when I started feeling off, nauseated even.
A faint thought flickered: What if some of these were altered before they got to us?
The question didn't feel like mine. I shook it off. I trusted the system. At least I used to, before Thayer died.
Atropa didn't hide things. It preserved them.
So why did that thought linger? Maybe because someone had been hiding Hasley's journal all this time before placing it in a locked, no, unlocked drawer for me to find. So, perhaps they were hiding more, whoever they were. I didn't know who left it. Maybe someone planted the Atropa cloth to throw me off, and it never belonged to Atropa in the first place. Someone to make me question them rather than the real suspect.
All I knew was I needed answers. I couldn't just lose trust, not before knowing the truth. But what else had already been rewritten?
At first, I thought it was a typo, the kind anyone could overlook. But the more I searched, the more I found—the same name spelled two ways, a date shifted by a few years, a whole record missing as though it had been erased and rewritten. Not errors. Intentional edits.
And I wondered how my subconscious caught that? It's hardly noticeable unless you're digging for it. I wouldn't have even looked twice before the thought came to me.
Then my threadband flashed purple. Purple meant a review was coming. And this was our only warning of it. We weren't told when, just that it could happen anywhere between now and two weeks from now. Panic surged through my body. I closed the file and sent it through without notifying anyone of any errors. As if I hadn't seen any at all. I wasn't sure if that was the right decision.
But I felt Something—or someone—was waiting for me to make the next move.
And I did what Hasley would do: acted like I never saw it, just as she had with the mysterious letter in her mailbox.
I looked around, reflecting on whether either of us had made the right decision to ignore.
Reflecting on my life altogether. If I should just disappear somewhere no one knows about. If a place like that exists.
The lights flickered once, and in the silence that followed, I swore I heard someone whisper my name.