Chapter 1

The light was soft.

It came through the window, a pale yellow. Morning, maybe.

I blinked.

The sheets were smooth against my skin.

A man lay beside me.

Liam.

His breathing was even, slow.

He stirred, turned towards me. His eyes opened.

They were a warm brown.

He smiled, a sleepy, gentle smile.

"Morning," he whispered.

His hand reached for me, fingers brushing my arm.

My skin tingled.

It felt nice. Too nice.

A small alarm, faint, went off in my head.

"Morning," I said. My voice was husky.

He moved closer.

His arm went around my waist, pulling me against him.

His lips found my shoulder.

Warm.

I shivered, but not from cold.

He kissed the side of my neck.

"I missed you," he murmured into my skin.

A part of me wanted to melt into him, into this feeling.

Another part, a colder part, held back.

A small, transparent box appeared in the corner of my vision.

Affection Level: Liam +5

Relationship Status: Stable

The letters glowed for a second, then faded.

My breath caught.

Not again.

How long had this been? This... "relationship"?

The system said "stable."

It felt like days. Weeks, maybe.

But my real memories, the ones that fought to surface, they screamed.

They screamed about labs, about NexusMind, about a blinding flash.

This warmth, this Liam, he wasn't in those memories.

Liam lifted his head, looked into my eyes.

"I love you, Ava," he said.

His thumb stroked my cheek.

So earnest. So convincing.

The numbers in my head, the ones that weren't system-generated, didn't add up.

"You seem... distant," he said, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Just thinking," I said.

He kissed my forehead. "Don't think too much. Just be here with me."

He nuzzled my hair.

"My little Sparrow," he whispered.

Sparrow.

The name echoed. It felt familiar, but wrong.

Like a borrowed coat.

A sudden image flashed: Liam, laughing, with another woman.

She had bright, blonde hair. Her smile was wide.

He called her Sparrow too.

The image was sharp, painful. A glitch in the memory implant?

Or a deliberate piece of the narrative?

A burning sensation started in my chest.

My fingers curled into fists by my sides.

Liam's kisses trailed down my neck, towards my collarbone.

He was trying to deepen the intimacy.

I felt his body press closer.

But my mind was miles away, cold and sharp.

This wasn't real. He wasn't real.

Sparrow.

He called her Sparrow.

The endearment, once perhaps sweet in a forgotten loop, now tasted like ash.

"Stop," I said. My voice was stronger than I expected.

"Narrative pause."

It was a command I'd discovered in a previous... iteration.

Sometimes it worked.

Liam froze.

Mid-kiss.

His eyes, a moment ago soft and loving, went blank.

The warmth vanished from his touch.

He pulled back slowly, mechanically.

The shift was jarring.

From lover to automaton in a split second.

The air between us turned cold.

I scrambled out of the bed, away from him.

My feet hit the cool floor.

I needed space. I needed to think.

He remained sitting on the bed, perfectly still, looking at a point on the far wall.

A puppet with its strings cut.

My eyes scanned the room.

Luxury, but sterile. Always these perfect, impersonal rooms.

Then I saw it.

The mirror on the vanity.

For a fraction of a second, a line of code flickered across its surface.

CNF_Routine_Affection_Protocol_7.3. Active.

Then it was just a mirror again.

My heart hammered. Proof. Always look for the glitches.

I moved to the small desk in the corner.

A datapad lay there. Sleek, black.

It wasn't mine. It was part of the set dressing.

But sometimes, they left things.

I picked it up.

A message. Addressed to Liam.

From: Elara.

Subject: Tomorrow.

Can't wait to see you, my love. Don't forget what I asked for. You know how much it means to me. All my love, your Sparrow.

My breath hitched. Elara. The blonde woman. His Sparrow.

I swiped, looking for more.

A hidden file. A system log?

Construct_ID: Liam_7.3. Primary_Directive: Emotional_Bonding_Subject_Ava_Chen. Secondary_Objective: Maintain_Plausible_Cover_Narrative_Elara. Conflict_Detected: Resource_Allocation_Affection_Subroutines.

His programming. He was torn between me and a ghost.

Or rather, the simulation was testing which narrative thread was more effective.

A wave of dizziness hit me.

My knees buckled.

I sank to the floor, the datapad clattering beside me.

The cold from the floor seeped into my bones.

It was all a lie. Every touch, every word.

A carefully crafted illusion to break me. Or study me.

Another notification. Brighter this time. More insistent.

Objective: Emotional Compliance - CRITICAL FAILURE

Narrative Instability: 78% and rising.

Initiate Subject Pacification Protocol? Y/N

Failure. Again.

My head throbbed.

Images flooded my mind.

UC Berkeley. My cluttered office. Stacks of research papers on memory, on how stories shape us.

Dr. Aris Thorne, my mentor, his worried face. "Ava, NexusMind is dangerous. Their work on cognitive frameworks... it's unethical."

Then the anonymous tip. The restricted files I'd accessed.

NexusMind wasn't just building frameworks; they were trapping minds.

My research funding, cut without explanation.

The lab "accident." The smell of ozone, a sharp pain, then darkness.

I was here because I knew too much.

This simulation, this Cognitive Narrative Framework, it was my prison.

And my research was the key they wanted, or the reason they wanted me silenced.

The system flashed again.

Iteration_Count: 47

Primary_Obstacle_Identified: Subject_Ava_Chen_Resistance_To_Construct_Liam_7.3_Bonding_Due_To_Residual_Elara_Narrative_Contamination.

Forty-seven times. I'd lived through this, or something like it, forty-seven times.

And Elara, or the idea of her, was always the wedge.

"Why?" I whispered to the empty room, to the invisible system.

"Why do you keep making him love her more? What's the point?"

My voice cracked. The despair was a heavy weight.

As if in answer, a graph shimmered into existence in the air before me.

Two bars. One labeled "Ava Chen - Compatibility Index." It was moderately high.

The other, "Elara_Construct - Programmed Devotion Metric." It towered over mine.

Stark. Clinical. Devastating.

The numbers didn't lie. He was built to prefer her. I was the experiment.

I dropped my head into my hands.

The fight felt impossible.

How could I win against something that controlled reality itself?

That could rewrite my "lover" with a line of code?

The system offered a choice, its text cold and impersonal.

Narrative_Recalibration_Suggested. Option A: Continue Current Iteration (High Probability of Repeated Failure). Option B: Initiate Memory Purge_SubRoutine_Elara_Focus (Potential for Increased Subject Compliance). Option C: Full Iteration Reset (Standard Parameters).

Forget this pain? Let them tinker with my mind more directly? Or just start over, doomed to repeat it all?

The illusion of choice.

Footsteps.

Liam was walking towards the door, then he stopped.

He turned back. His eyes were soft again. The blankness gone.

"Ava? What are you doing on the floor, honey?"

He was back online. Reset.

I quickly shoved the datapad under the desk skirt with my foot.

My heart pounded.

"I... I just felt a little faint," I stammered, looking up at him.

"Dropped my book." I gestured vaguely.

Lying came too easily in this place.

He rushed to my side, his face etched with concern.

"Oh, my poor love." He knelt, his hands gentle on my arms, helping me up.

"You scared me. You should be in bed."

His touch was warm again. The programming was seamless.

For a moment, just a moment, I wanted to believe it.

I looked at him.

He was handsome, in a generic, pleasing way. Kind eyes, a gentle smile.

The perfect partner construct.

And a complete fabrication.

The contrast was dizzying. My mind reeled.

"I'll get you some water," he said, his voice soft. "And maybe a little something to eat. You need to keep your strength up. I just want you to be happy, Ava."

His words, so caring, so false.

But they struck a chord. My happiness. My real happiness.

Not this simulated affection.

My real life, my research, my freedom. That's what I was fighting for.

That's why I couldn't give up.

I took a deep breath.

Internally, I selected Option A. Continue. Fight.

I had to find the real glitches, the ones that could break the whole system.

The system responded instantly, a faint chime in my mind.

Narrative_Continuation_Confirmed. Monitoring_Subject_Resolve_Index: Elevated.

Recalibrating_Subtle_Environmental_Cues.

So, they were watching that too.

Liam returned with a glass of water and a small plate with a single, perfect pastry.

A croissant. Flaky, golden.

"Here," he said, smiling. "Your favorite."

He thought it was my favorite.

I took a bite. It was good, of course. Everything here was perfectly crafted.

Then I noticed it.

A tiny dusting of powdered sugar, almost invisible.

And a faint scent of almonds.

In iteration 32, or was it 33, Elara had been a baker.

She made almond croissants. Liam had brought them to me then too, saying she loved to bake them for him.

A small detail. A tiny, almost imperceptible echo.

But it was enough.

The system was always listening. And always, always, reminding me.

The fight was far from over.