I saw it before she finished the sentence.
The Cult's technique. The way they'd worked on her. Restructuring memories. Planting associations. Removing what they considered inefficient. The work was always at the seams — the places where a person's actual life met the version the Cult was building. The way you knew the work had been done was that the seams stopped showing.
Mira's gift wasn't the fight inside the dream. It was the eye for the gaps.
"Mira. The seams. Where is Aiden's actual life showing through."
Her eyes scanned. The throne room shimmered around her attention.
