“Why not Level 5?” Julia demanded.
“Reese wants you to understand something first.”
The floor shuddered—barely noticeable, but enough to make my shoulder press against hers. Her hand brushed mine. Not accidental.
The lift slowed.
“Prepare yourselves,” Lyric said. “This level tests perception.”
The doors slid apart.
Julia
The space beyond the lift wasn’t a room. It was an arena of shifting light—holographic walls moving in slow, hypnotic waves. Patterns forming, dissolving, reforming in endless loops. Reality bending around the edges.
Hawk stepped forward, rifle raised. “Lyric, what is this?”
“A simulation field,” she answered. “Reese’s favorite tool. He trained here. He broke patterns here. He learned to see what others missed.”
The light space rippled like water touched by wind.
Then it changed.
And I froze.
The walls shifted into images—crisp, razor-sharp, too real.
My precinct.
My old partner.
The interstate bridge.
The night everything went wrong.
Hawk didn’t see it—he saw only blank walls. But I saweverything.
“No,” I whispered. “Not this.”
He turned. “Julia? What is it?”
The images sharpened—screams, flashing blue lights, broken concrete, the rush of cold water.
My partner falling.
My hand missing his by inches.
Lyric’s voice softened. “Reese thought you might resist. But your file was… thorough.”
My breath cracked. “Turn it off.”
“Only when you address the unresolved variable.”
Hawk stepped closer to me. “Julia, talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” I lied.
But the simulation shifted again—showing the moment I’d shoved down for years.
