Sometimes the truth disappears the moment you think you've found it.
I stood up, still shaken. My mind felt split in two—foggy one breath, sharp the next. It didn't make sense, but somehow, the man who tried to save Thayer finally did.
The light still pulsed faintly at the edge of my vision, a soft afterimage that refused to fade. I pressed my fingers to my temples, half expecting them to come away glowing. Somewhere beneath the hum of the ventilation, I thought I heard whispers—my own thoughts, looping back on themselves.
Then a snap shot of Thayer, standing in a room full of books, his hand reached for one, eyes glancing up like he almost saw me—then gone in an instance.
I had never seen him there before—not in memory, not in a capture. I liked to imagine he'd found a way to show me he was okay. Maybe somewhere, in the afterlife, he was surrounded by stories—reading endlessly, lost in a genre I'd never learned he loved. Physical books were rare now, relics of the past. But I still collected what I could.
I suddenly wished I had read more of the journal before possibly getting caught with it.
A knock. Then Carlos appeared at my door."Hey, Valley, I'm here to take you to that review. If you want to follow me."
He'd come too quickly. The flash still lingered in my vision, and I hadn't had time to think, let alone hide what needed hiding. I should've prepared when I was warned—but my thoughts had been tangled elsewhere.
"Sure," I said, grabbing my bag.
We walked down the corridor, the air thick with the hum of machines. Every camera eye felt like it was turning toward me.
I wondered how many cameras were watching, how many unseen eyes followed my every step. I tried to count as I walked passed but lost track when Carlos began speaking again.
"I ran into Levi on the way down here. He had nothing but exemplary words to say about you, making a mark down here, I take it?"
I forced a small nod, holding back a smile. Pretending the mention of Levi didn't make my thoughts stumble. He had a way of appearing in the right place at the right time—though I was no longer sure if that was luck or design.
"I suppose I work hard like everyone else," I replied to the back of his head, almost exactly the same height as me, but maybe an inch give or take. His hair was cut very short to the scalp.
"Modest too, I see. Are you excited for the festival this weekend?" He asked like he knew I was already going. I hadn't made up my mind about it yet.
"Yeah, it's definitely causing feelings in me to rise," I replied.
We passed through another scanner arch. I could feel the static prickle against my skin, like it was searching for guilt instead of metal. Carlos hummed under his breath—something cheerful and off-key that made my chest twist. How could he sound so calm when my world was seconds from unraveling? Again.
"Oh you must be nervous. Don't worry, it is one of the coziest festivals of the year. My wife and I love going. It's actually where we met."
I hadn't known much about Carlos or that he had a wife.
"Oh, how sweet, I'm glad you two have each other." My voice sounded sincere enough, though my chest was tight. I wasn't in the mood for tenderness—not today.
The festival was this weekend. Love and unity—Atropa's favorite illusion. I wasn't sure why that word replaced event in my mind, but there it had. I swear I had lost it.
But for the first time in my life, I didn't want to see what love looked like on display.
"We're here," Carlos announced as we stopped in front of a door that required his threadband to get through. We had gone up to the second floor and down the hall before reaching here.
The door opened and he waved me through. "See you on the other side," he said, the door sliding shut behind me.
As I walked forward, motion sensors brought the lights to life—one by one, each flare of white humming overhead. The room smelled faintly of metal and sterilizer. The farther I went, the smaller I felt.
There were no windows. No clocks. Not even camera's here, just white walls, and the steady pulse of my own fear.
The silence pressed in from all sides. Somewhere, faintly, a vent hummed. The air smelled too clean, like it was trying to erase what came before me.
Finally, I reached a desk with a sign that said to wait here. The review room wasn't what I expected. Rows of lights hummed above me, white and cold. The stage with the podium now in front of me made it feel less like a review and more like a trial.
I adjusted my bag against my shoulder, trying not to imagine the weight of what was inside.
I stood for what felt like ten minutes before someone started entering from the opposite side of the entrance I had used. There were five people moving in, all taking a seat up on the stage, which I suppose was meant for them.
I stood up straighter, wishing my heartbeat wasn't visible in my throat. Their digital pens clicked in unison, and I realized they were watching the rhythm of my breathing—collecting me, one detail at a time.
A woman stood in the center and announced her name, Her hair was pinned in a perfect twist, not a single strand out of place. Her uniform shimmered faintly, white trimmed with gold thread of Atropa's symbol, representing a higher division. Behind her, another woman with her head straight, eager but nervous, their eyes darting toward me like I was a specimen laid out for display.
"I am Charlotte. I will be conducting this review. This is my trainee and will be observing. I may have her ask you a few questions and so on. Are you alright with that?" She asked, but I could tell it wasn't a question; it was more her way of telling me to be alright with it.
"Yes," I responded.
"Then we shall begin."
"I see you have been working here a year now, is that correct?"
"Yes"
"You have excelled in your department and have been granted access to other departments."
Please don't ask me about the journal, I prayed. The other department was where I got the journal from, and on my first and only time there, I stole something. It had to happen just before my review, too.
"If you don't mind," Charlotte said, flipping through her notes, "we've been admiring your work lately. Everything had been digitized on schedule, and you've proven capable of fixing errors. One thing I have to ask is—have you noticed anything missing from the archive room?"
There it was—the million-credit question.
My heart hitched. I had to think fast, but every path in my mind led to disaster.
"Missing?" I repeated, stalling, forcing my mouth to move before my mind could catch up.
Suddenly there was a noise up at the stage, a door opening, where Charlotte came in at not long ago.
A woman was walking in, the Weaver. I could've sworn I'd seen her recently before, though I knew I hadn't. The feeling was strange—like déjà vu.
She came in charged and marched on with guards at her sides.
"Check her belongings" she said.
The guards came straight for me. One yanked my bag away while the other began patting me down.
The guard's hands moved slow, deliberate—over my neck, my ribs, pausing at my chest. He squeezed as if flesh could hide secrets. Then his hand pressed lower, gripping and lifting. I froze. Air caught in my throat. His hand had paused far too long.
I had only ever felt violated like this briefly before—years ago.
The family I'd lived with back then... their oldest son had known me well, against my wishes.
His name was Derrek. The moment it came to mind, the guard's eyes met mine—same color, same shape. My blood went cold. It couldn't be. Not here. Not now.
But it really couldnt be, could it? I hadn't seen him in years. Could he be the personal guard of the Weaver now?
He didn't say anything—just turned and marched back to her side as if nothing had happened. The other guard followed.
It had to be a coincedent, but those eyes, and that grip had felt all too familiar.
My gaze moved down, ashamed at what had just happened, wondering if I had imagined it all. Putting me back into that neat little box I was scared to leave.
Then I noticed everything was scattered across the floor—papers, pens, datapads.
Everything except the journal.
It was gone.
The one thing that tied me to the truth—gone.
My throat tightened. I stared at the empty space where it should've been, wanting to will it back but not at the same time. The edges of the room seemed to blur, my heartbeat louder than the hum of the lights.
It was my safety. My silence. My truth.
The journal's absence left a hollow in the air, as if a voice had been cut mid-sentence. My hands trembled, useless. All I could think of was Hasley's final words—the ones I hadn't finished reading.
Maybe the truth doesn't disappear. Maybe it's just stolen before you're ready to see it.
Somewhere, in the walls or the code or the silence, I swore I heard it whisper back.
The Weaver's voice cut through it—'What an inconvenience. She didn't have what I was looking for.'
Then she turned and left with her guards. I couldn't look away. When he followed, he paused at the door, grin spreading wide and cruel before disappearing after her.
My hands shook, the floor and walls tilting as my chest hammered in my ears. I dropped to my knees, scanning, clawing at the empty space where it should've been, my mind fracturing with every second. The journal wasn't here. Not under the desk, not beneath the scattered papers, not anywhere I could see—and the panic twisted tighter around my ribs, hot and sharp. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. It had vanished, slipped through my fingers, and the room… the room felt like it was closing in, trapping me with nothing but the thundering of my own fear.
Charlotte cleared her throat lightly, adjusting her uniform as if to erase my chaos. "I'm… sorry that had to happen," she said, her voice flat but polite, glancing at her trainee. "Take your time, Valley." Then she swept toward the door, trainee in tow, leaving me kneeling amid the scattered papers. She didn't seem sorry at all—just sorry she'd been left in the awkward aftermath of my collapse, clearly assuming my distress was from the guards' intrusion rather than the journal's disappearance.
And there I stayed, alone with the emptiness the journal left behind and the pressure of hands that had pressed too close, lingering as if they hadn't fully let go, my chest heaving, the edges of the room blurring, knowing nothing was safe, nothing was certain—and the truth was still out there, just beyond my reach.
My chest tightened, a raw, strangled sound ripping through the air."Valley!"
The voice—sharply familiar, jagged with fear and rage—cut through my panic. My knees trembled. Thayer? Could it be him? Or was my mind twisting hope into hallucination?