Tess kept the journal inside the lining of her mattress.
She had shown it to me once, months earlier, then made me promise never to read it without her permission.
She said it held the things the reset might smooth away: petty anger, embarrassing desires, suspicions that sounded foolish in daylight.
Now she held it against her chest and said, “No.”
“The audit needs analog evidence.”
“Then give them something of yours.”
“The ledger is mine. The test was mine.”
“This is my mind.”
Her room smelled of dried herbs and the wax she used to seal handwritten pages against moisture.
The observation cuff allowed me to visit only because the system had assigned Tess an emotional support task.
RETENTION INDEX: 98.4%
“You wrote warnings about the Grace Layer,” I said.
“I wrote hundreds of th
