Chapter 3

Just like that, the searing pain from the crash vanished. My limbs felt whole. Chloe and Liam stared, awe in their eyes.

"See, Liam?" Chloe breathed. "The Program's power! It's ours now!"

They were fools. They saw only the benefits.

I had one person to see, my only real connection in this simulated world: Mr. Henderson. He ran a small diner, a place that felt like home. He was a surrogate grandfather. I found him in the Continuum's hospital wing, frail and weak.

As I sat by his bed, holding his hand, Chloe and Liam walked in. Chloe was beaming, holding up a small, white stick. A positive pregnancy test.

"It's Liam's," she announced, her eyes daring me to react. "We're starting our family."

A family. The one I' d dreamed of with her. The words hit me like a physical blow. I looked at Mr. Henderson, his breathing shallow. Chloe had told me, years ago, how much she wanted children, how she couldn't wait to be a mother. She'd said it looking into my eyes. She was already pregnant with Liam's child then, or planning it. The timeline of her deceit stretched back further than I could comprehend.

Then, a voice in my head, the System: "Alex Miller, your punitive link to the Prime Beneficiary bond has been officially severed. You will no longer experience Feedback Dissonance."

A wave of pure, unadulterated relief washed over me. The constant threat of pain, gone. I could think clearly for the first time in years.

Mr. Henderson needed care, real-world money converted to Continuum credits. I had savings, earned here, some transferred from my meager real-world trust. I went to the apartment I once shared with Chloe. The locks were changed. I tried my old code. Denied.

A sick feeling rose in me. I saw a small, digital keypad glowing. I punched in Liam and Chloe' s anniversary, a date Chloe had "forgotten" when we were together but clearly remembered for him. It clicked open.

Inside, my belongings were trashed. Not just moved, but broken, torn. Sentimental things, small things I'd cherished. My old worn copy of "To Kill a Mockingbird," a gift from a foster mother, ripped in half. A photo of me and Mr. Henderson, smiling at his diner counter, was crumpled on the floor. It was a deliberate, hateful act. The new passcode, their anniversary, was the final, mocking insult.