The memory jumped again. The laboratory. Fires. Alarms. Thorne running, clutching his head. Behind him, Elara walked slowly, calmly, through the flames. Her eyes were pure white. Where her hands should have been, there were only shifting blocks of corrupted data—pixelated, jagged, hungry.
The memory skipped. A glitch. Suddenly, Mara was viewing Thorne’s own hand—her hand, in the memory—holding a scalpel. The scalpel was pressing against the throat of a sleeping woman. No. Not a woman. The same figure. Elara. But older. And the scalpel wasn’t a weapon. It was a tool. digicap.dav
He’s trying to extract the digicap , Mara understood with sickening clarity. He put it back into her. But it’s corrupted. It’s become… viral. The memory jumped again
“Every moment you captured,” Elara said, her voice now inside Thorne’s head, “I will live in. Every breath you take, I will be the silence between them. Every memory you make, I will be the one watching.” Alarms