The revelation that Sarah—the anchor of Elara’s heart—had been a ghost for two decades sent a cold, digital shock through my nervous system. Every memory of her laughter in the Garden, every time I had held her hand in the simulation, felt like a vine of poisonous ivy wrapping around my soul.
I wasn't just grieving a sister; I was grieving the fact that my love had been the open door for a monster.
The "Sarah" at the end of the hallway didn't move like a child. Her joints clicked with a rhythmic, clockwork precision, and when she stepped forward, the linoleum floor cracked beneath her feet as if she weighed as much as a mountain of lead. Behind her, the other versions—the dozen duplicates of my dead sister—stood in a terrifying, synchronized line, their blue eyes flickering like dying st
