The moment I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong.
The ceiling above me was sterile white, the kind that made you feel small, like a specimen on a tray. There was a rhythmic humming sound — mechanical, cold. The air carried a faint chemical scent. Not quite bleach, not quite antiseptic, but something in between. Something meant to erase evidence of pain.
I tried to move my arms. Nothing. My wrists were bound to the sides of the cot by smooth, metallic cuffs. Panic stabbed at my chest, sharp and suffocating.
Where was Rohan?
I struggled harder, my pulse thrumming against my temples. My voice cracked when I shouted, "Rohan! Rohan!"
Silence.
Then a voice — soft, female, oddly familiar — drifted into the room through hidden speakers. "Vitals stable. Subject reawakened. Emotional response: heightened fear, residual romantic attachment present. Begin Phase Two."
Phase Two?
No, no, no — this wasn't happening. Not again.
My mind spun like a broken carousel, fragments of memory jarring loose. The café. The woman. The gas. The screen showing Zarina's terrified face.
I wasn't dreaming. This was real.
Or… was it?
Doubt is a cruel parasite. Once it latches on, it eats at everything you believe. What if this was another simulation? What if we'd never left Apex? What if everything — Rohan, Zarina, the escape — was a carefully orchestrated delusion?
I blinked fast, trying to ground myself.
Think. Focus.
I remembered the rain. The feel of Rohan's fingers laced with mine. The kiss. The words we shared by the fire. That had to be real. It felt real. Didn't it?
"Let me out," I shouted, my voice cracking. "Let me see him!"
Silence again. Then the wall across from me flickered.
A glass pane turned translucent — and beyond it, a room. Smaller, darker. Inside, strapped to a similar cot, was Rohan.
My breath hitched.
He looked… broken.
His head lolled slightly to one side, but his eyes met mine, wide and desperate. Relief bloomed in my chest like an explosion.
"Aanya!"
I almost sobbed just hearing my name in his voice. "I'm here! I'm here, Rohan!"
His cuffs jerked as he struggled.
Before I could speak again, another figure stepped into his room.
I froze.
Tall. Clad in a white coat. Surgical gloves. And a face I remembered from a file Zarina once showed me in secret — Dr. Viraj Malhotra, one of the original behavioral architects of the Apex project.
I whispered, "No…"
He turned his face toward the glass. And smiled.
"Aanya," he said, as if greeting an old friend. "I've been watching your progress. Impressive deviations. Your love response exceeded expectations."
My skin crawled.
"Why are you doing this?" I shouted.
"To prove a theory," he said, still speaking to me through the glass. "Love is the purest virus. Once infected, the subject prioritizes it over logic, over safety, even over survival. But you already knew that, didn't you?"
I didn't reply. I couldn't.
I looked back at Rohan, whose gaze was locked on mine. He didn't look scared. He looked furious. Protective.
"You're wasting your time," he growled at the doctor. "She's not a puppet. And neither am I."
Dr. Malhotra only chuckled.
"That's where you're wrong. You're the best puppets. You just don't remember the strings."
He pressed a button, and suddenly Rohan screamed.
His back arched off the cot, eyes wide in agony.
"No! Stop!" I shrieked, yanking at my restraints until my skin burned.
Malhotra looked at me calmly.
"This is just feedback calibration. Pain and love occupy the same neural pathways, did you know that? That's why heartbreak feels so real."
Tears streamed down my cheeks. Not just from fear — from helplessness.
I had vowed never to feel helpless again.
I remembered something Zarina once said, back when we first started uncovering the truth: "If they cage you, remember — they built the bars. That means they can be broken."
I forced myself to stop crying. To breathe. Think.
What would they not expect from me?
Compliance.
So I went still. Silent.
Dr. Malhotra studied me. "That's better."
He turned away from the glass and walked out of Rohan's chamber.
My heart raced.
A soft hiss came from above — air being pumped in. Probably something to sedate us. I didn't have much time.
I twisted my wrist just slightly, searching the inside of the cuff.
Rohan had once shown me a trick — a pressure point in Apex cuffs. If you hit it hard enough, it forced a mechanical reset.
I slammed my wrist sideways against the cot edge. Once. Twice. Crack.
Pain shot up my arm — but the cuff loosened.
My hand slipped free.
"Come on," I whispered, fumbling with the other. The second cuff gave way more easily.
I was free.
I slid off the cot, dizzy and disoriented, but standing.
The wall-glass had a small seam where it met the floor. I dropped down and searched for an access panel.
There. A barely-there line. I pried it open with the metal cuff still hanging from my wrist.
Inside — a circuit board.
I had no tools. Just instinct. And adrenaline.
"Red to blue," I muttered, remembering a line from the field notes Zarina made me memorize.
I ripped a wire loose and jammed it into another socket.
The lights flickered.
And the glass wall slid open.
Rohan blinked in shock as I stumbled into his room. "You— you got out?!"
"Of course I did," I said, voice shaking. "I'm tired of playing the victim."
I rushed to his side and undid his cuffs.
He pulled me into a hug the second he was free.
"Are you okay?" I asked, touching his face.
"I am now."
We kissed. Desperately. Like it might be our last.
Then we ran.
The facility was a maze, but we had the map. Or at least, my memory of it. I took the left corridor, dodged two security cams, and bypassed a sealed door with Rohan's stolen keycard.
Sirens began blaring within five minutes.
"They know," he panted.
"They always know."
A voice echoed through the halls. Malhotra's.
"You'll never escape. We control the world outside. No one will believe you. You are constructs, not citizens."
We kept running.
Another hallway. Then a room filled with old servers — flickering, failing. One of them bore a label I hadn't expected:
Courier Project – A. Sinha – Cycle 44
I froze.
Rohan read it too.
"This is where they archived your memories," he said.
I reached out, touched the metal surface.
And something clicked.
A rush of images flooded my mind — a birthday cake. A woman's hand stroking my hair. A silver anklet. My mother.
"I remember her," I whispered. "I remember her face…"
Rohan gripped my hand. "You're not just a test subject. You're a person. A real one. They can't erase that."
But I wasn't sure anymore.
The facility shuddered.
A distant explosion.
"Zarina," I said.
"She must've breached the perimeter."
More sirens.
Time to move.
We fled through the emergency exit, out into the cold night.
Snow had begun to fall.
Somewhere in the distance, the forest called to us. Safe. Hidden. Free.
We didn't look back.
Not this time.
But I knew we weren't done.
Not yet.
End of Chapter 21.