The distinction registers.
New.
Unstable.
Her grip tightens. Not restraining. Not forcing. Holding.
“You’re here,” she says.
The words are simple.
They do not match the complexity of the failure cascading through internal structure.
“You’re not there anymore.”
Memory attempts to engage.
Sand.
Heat.
Hands.
Loss.
Pain.
I cut it off. Too much. Too fast. The system destabilizes. Her voice continues.
“Look at me.” I am. I cannot stop. “You chose me.”
The statement penetrates. Direct. No distortion. Chose. The word echoes. Conflict.
Selection is not permitted. Assignment only. Directive only. Choice—not part of the design.
And yet—I did.
Data confirms. Multiple instances. Repeated. Consistent. Protect. Hold. Do not release.
Mine.
The signal rises clean. Uncorrupted. Not imposed.
Mine.
The system attempts override. Reasserts control. Reclassifies. Reframes. Fails.
Her hand shifts. Moves from my arm to my chest. Over my heart. Contact.
The system spikes. Not pain. Not damage. Something else. Something wider.
“You stopped,” she says.
The memory hits.
Her.
Pressed against stone.
