Dockside used to be the heart of Velridge's industry. Now it was just a graveyard of warehouses and rusted cranes leaning over black water. The air smelled like oil and old secrets.
Building 47 stood at the far end of the pier. Most of its windows were broken, and its door was half hanging off the hinges. Yet inside, a single light was glowing on the second floor.
The cat sat on my shoulder, ears twitching.
"I'm going to guess that's the part where we ignore common sense and walk right in."
"You know me too well."
The stairs creaked with every step. Dust floated through the air like forgotten snow. The room upstairs looked nothing like the ruin outside. It was clean, almost surgical. A table stood in the center, covered in papers, photos, and glowing fragments of machinery that hummed softly like a heartbeat.
And there was a man waiting.
He was tall, unshaven, and wore a coat almost identical to mine. His eyes were tired but sharp, like someone who had lived too many lives in one. When he looked up, something inside me froze.
He had my face.
"You took your time," he said quietly.
"I'm guessing this isn't a family reunion," I replied.
"Not in the traditional sense." He smiled faintly. "You could say I'm the original draft."
The cat jumped down and hissed. "You're the real Elior Vane."
"Was," the man said. "Now I'm just the memory they couldn't delete."
I felt my pulse flicker. "They said I was built from an experiment. Are you saying I'm your copy?"
He nodded slowly. "Not a copy. A continuation. They extracted my memories, my instincts, my guilt, and built you from it. The Bureau wanted to see if conscience could exist without flesh. You were supposed to think you were human long enough to investigate your own death and then dissolve once you found the truth."
I took a step back. "So what went wrong?"
He gestured toward the city visible through the cracked window. "You refused to dissolve. You adapted. Somehow you connected yourself to Velridge. The city keeps you alive now. Every flicker of light, every heartbeat of current, it's all feeding you."
My hands were trembling. The blue glow in my veins pulsed faintly against the dark. "Then why send the photo? Why drag me here?"
"Because I'm dying," he said simply. "And when I die, the connection ends. The city dies with me. You have to take my place before that happens."
I stared at him, unable to speak. The idea felt impossible and yet inevitable.
The cat looked between us. "There's something you're not telling him, isn't there?"
The original Elior smiled sadly. "If he takes my place, he becomes me. And when he does, he'll forget he ever existed as the copy. The loop continues."
I felt my throat tighten. "You built me to replace yourself."
"No. I built you to end it. To finally let both of us rest."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass sphere filled with swirling light. Inside, faint images flickered — memories, faces, laughter, the sound of rain.
"My last memory core," he said softly. "Take it. When the clock hits 11:47 tomorrow, merge it with your own. One of us will remain. Choose which one."
The sphere was cold in my hand, but the moment I touched it, I felt the weight of it — a thousand thoughts pressing against my skull.
I looked up to ask him what would happen next.
He was gone.
The room was empty. The papers were gone. Even the dust felt disturbed, as if no one had stood there in years.
The cat climbed back onto my shoulder, voice quiet. "He wasn't here, was he?"
"I don't know," I whispered. "But this is real." I held up the glowing sphere. "And whatever happens tomorrow, one of us disappears."
Outside, the city lights flickered once, like a held breath.