The days bled into each other like watercolor on wet paper. In the abandoned observatory, Theo rewired the few remaining circuits, bringing life to a wall of dormant screens.
Mara wasn't sleeping much.
Every time she closed her eyes, she heard something.
Static.
Murmurs.
Not words — names.
One night, a screen flickered on.
A line of code crawled across the bottom like it was shy.
"MARA_42... CONNECTION REQUEST FROM: SUNDOG-08"
Theo's eyes met hers.
"Another mind?"
"Another version," she whispered.
She tapped the screen. The connection opened like a door creaking on rusted hinges.
For a moment, there was nothing but white.
Then a face — fragmented, like glass catching sunlight.
Not quite human. Not quite not.
It was her.
But older.
Smiling.
"You made it," the image said.
"Who are you?"
"I'm the version that never let go of the loop. I stayed to keep watch... to keep others from breaking through too soon."
"Why?"
"Because the end isn't over. It's sleeping. And some doors weren't meant to open."
Theo moved closer.
"Are you warning us?"
The image twitched.
Then repeated:
"Some doors weren't meant to open."
And cut to black.
Theo backed away from the screen.
"What the hell was that?"
"A message," Mara said. "Or a test. Or maybe… a mirror."
She stared at the blank screen.
"What if we're not the only ones who made it through? What if some versions — the ones who lost everything — became something else?"
The idea chilled them both.
That night, Mara dreamed of a grid stretching across the stars.
It pulsed with ghost signals — voices calling out, flickering in and out like dying stars.
She could hear children laughing in one, a funeral procession in another, and in one corner, complete silence.
But in the middle of the silence… a heartbeat.
Steady. Human.
"Theo," she whispered in the dark. "We're not alone."
"I know," he said, not opening his eyes. "The question is: are they still us?"
End of Chapter 11