Chapter 3
1082 Words
The elderly woman stepped forward. "My lord, the Council felt it would ease her transition if—"
"If you lied to her," Costa finished, finally turning to face them. "I told you I wouldn't allow it."
I stared at him, pieces of memory crystallising with each passing second. "The club," I murmured. "You weren't supposed to be there either."
Costa's smile returned, softer now. "My security detail had quite the time tracking me down. I'd slipped away during a state function—needed to breathe air that wasn't perfumed with politics."
"And I was running late for my night shift," I continued, the memory unfurling like a flower. "I cut through the alley behind Le Glow..."
"Where I was hiding from my handlers," Costa finished. "You nearly knocked me over."
"You caught me," I whispered. "You caught me and said—"
"'If you wanted to fall for me, you could have just said hello,'" we recited together.
The medical staff exchanged uneasy glances as Costa helped me to my feet. My legs trembled beneath me, but his arm around my waist kept me steady.
"What happens now?" I asked, not sure if I was addressing Costa or Dr. Thorne.
Marcus, the young attendant, stepped forward again. "According to protocol, you're both to be presented to the Council of Elders, then integrated into New Avalon society as founding members of a new genetic line."
"Breeding stock, you mean," Costa said flatly.
Dr. Thorne's expression hardened. "Your genetic profiles are exceptional. The combination could strengthen our population for generations. That's why you were preserved together—why we maintained your pods through centuries of hardship."
I felt Costa's arm tighten around me. "And if we refuse?"
A heavy silence fell over the room.
"Refusal will probably get us another 100 years of sleep before they try again.” I stated, going off the faces in the room.
The colour drained from Dr. Thorne's face, confirming my suspicions. Marcus looked stricken, while the elderly woman's mask of kindness finally slipped completely.
"The preservation protocols are designed for the greater good," she said coldly. "Individual desires are secondary to species survival."
Costa's laugh was sharp and bitter. "There it is. The truth at last." He turned to me, his green eyes blazing. "They've done this before, haven't they? How many times have we had this conversation?"
Dr. Thorne stepped backward. "Your memories should be intact from your last awakening—"
"Should be," Costa repeated. "But they're not, are they? There are gaps. Fragments that don't quite fit." He looked around the room with new understanding. "How many times have you woken us up? How many times have we refused?"
I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. Suddenly the sterile perfection of the facility felt sinister rather than advanced. "The echowisps," I whispered.
Everyone froze.
"What did you say?" the elderly woman demanded.
I hadn't even realised I'd spoken aloud, but now the memory was surfacing like something rising from deep water. "In the corridors. When they brought me here. I saw lights—pale blue and amber, flickering with sound. Whispers of conversations that felt familiar."
Marcus's face went ashen. "Lady Jackson, you shouldn't be able to see—"
"Memory Lights," Costa breathed, his arm tightening protectively around me. "They appear in places of emotional significance." He fixed Dr. Thorne with a stare that could have cut glass. "How many times?"
Dr. Thorne's professional facade cracked entirely. "Seventeen," he whispered.
The number hit me like a physical blow. Seventeen times we'd awakened to this same charade. Seventeen times we'd discovered the truth. Seventeen times we'd refused to be their breeding stock.
"And each time you wiped our memories and put us back under," I said, not really a question.
"The procedure becomes less precise with repetition," the elderly woman admitted. "Some fragments always remain. The echowisps are... an unfortunate side effect. Residual psychic energy from repeated trauma."
Costa released me and took a step toward Dr. Thorne. Despite his weakened state, there was something dangerous in his movement. "Six hundred years of this. Six hundred years of you playing god with our lives."
"The genetic imperative—"
"Can go to hell," Costa snarled. "Along with your Council and your protocols and your greater good."
I found my strength then, standing straighter despite my trembling legs. "What's different this time? Why are our memories coming back?"
Marcus cleared his throat nervously. "The equipment is failing. The memory suppression systems are operating at thirty percent efficiency. And..." He glanced at Dr. Thorne.
“You won’t come out alive next time, my lady your pod is to damaged to put you back under. So next time Costa will awaken alone.” One of the other attendants spoke looking towards the floor.
"So this is our last chance," I whispered, the weight of seventeen failed awakenings pressing down on me.
Costa's hand found mine, fingers intertwining with practiced ease—a muscle memory that had survived centuries of tampering. "No," he said firmly. "This is their last chance."
Dr. Thorne's expression darkened. "You don't understand the stakes. The genetic diversity crisis—"
"I understand perfectly," Costa interrupted. "You've had six hundred years to solve your problems without forcing us into your breeding program. Six hundred years of waking us up, wiping our minds, and trying again when we refused."
The room fell silent except for the soft hum of medical equipment. I looked around at the faces watching us—clinical, calculating, desperate. But Marcus was different. His eyes held something like hope.
"The Council doesn't know you're both awake yet, does it?" I asked, the realisation dawning on me.
Marcus shook his head slightly. "Official revival notification isn't scheduled until tomorrow's assembly."
"Which means," Costa said, a familiar mischievous glint returning to his eyes, "we have until then to disappear."
Dr. Thorne stepped forward, hands raised. "The facility is secure. There's nowhere to go, even if you could manage to leave. The world outside isn't what you remember. The atmospheric composition alone would—"
"Would be perfectly breathable in the Eastern Sanctuaries," Marcus interrupted. "Where the resistance has been gathering for decades."
The elderly woman gasped. "Marcus! You swore an oath to the Council!"
"I swore to protect humanity's future," he replied, straightening his shoulders. "Not to perpetuate centuries of imprisonment and forced breeding."
I felt a flicker of hope ignite in my chest. "There's a resistance?"
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