Alice's gaze passed over Lata like a shadow skimming water—weightless, fleeting.
Yet for that fraction of a second, something surfaced beneath it.
Recognition.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
Then it was gone.
Her lashes lowered, her posture folding inward with careful imperfection. Fingers intertwined, tightening just enough to suggest unease.
A performance so delicate it invited trust.
Sana felt it before he understood it—
That something had already gone wrong.
The room seemed to contract around him, the space between breaths narrowing, thickening. He tried to follow the moment, but it slipped, like trying to recall a dream already dissolving.
Xejo exhaled.
"We shouldn't have come."
Not regret.
Correction.
She reached for Lata's wrist.
"Come."
No force.
No room to refuse.
Lata didn't move.
At first, it seemed like hesitation.
Then her fingers loosened—not pulling away, but failing to hold on. The strength left them all at once, like something essential had been taken.
"…Why… brother…?"
The word lingered too long in the air.
As if it didn't belong to this version of him.
Sana's chest tightened.
Not from the accusation—
But from the unfamiliar weight of it feeling almost familiar.
"You said…"
Her voice trembled, but the tremor carried something deeper than grief.
Certainty.
"You said you wouldn't leave me."
A silence stretched.
Thin.
Fragile.
Dangerous.
Sana searched his memory.
Found nothing.
And yet—
A faint echo brushed against the edge of his mind.
Not a memory.
Not quite.
A shape.
"I don't remember that."
The answer came too quickly.
Too clean.
Like something rehearsed without his knowledge.
"I don't remember… you like that."
The moment the words left him—
Something shifted.
Not outside.
Inside.
Xejo noticed.
Her gaze sharpened, not at Lata—but at him.
"…Of course you don't."
Soft.
Flat.
Final.
Lata shook her head, once, then again, faster—like she could undo reality through motion alone.
"No… that's not true…"
Her breathing fractured.
"You wouldn't forget."
Not couldn't.
Wouldn't.
Because forgetting meant something worse than betrayal.
It meant she had never mattered enough to be remembered.
"This isn't real…"
Her voice dropped, slipping inward.
"I'm still dreaming…"
If she believed that—
Then none of this had happened.
Then she was still safe.
Xejo stepped forward.
This time, there was no restraint left.
Her hand closed around Lata's wrist—not harsh, but absolute.
"Look at him."
A quiet command.
Irreversible.
Lata resisted.
Barely.
But in that resistance was the last fragment of something breaking.
"Look."
Slowly—
She did.
And what she saw did not match what she remembered.
Sana stood there.
Unchanged.
And yet—
Wrong.
Alice stood beside him.
Close enough to erase the space that should have existed.
Not touching.
But undeniable.
A presence that had already settled into place.
"…He is like all of them."
Xejo's voice carried no emotion now.
Only conclusion.
"He forgets."
A pause.
"He replaces."
The words did not accuse.
They defined.
"I won't allow it."
Lata's lips parted.
Nothing came out.
Because there was nothing left to argue with.
The world she knew no longer existed in front of her.
So she stopped resisting.
Not because she accepted it.
But because she had nowhere left to stand.
Xejo pulled her away.
This time, she followed.
Empty.
Weightless.
But her eyes remained—
Fixed on Sana.
Not pleading.
Not angry.
Just searching.
As if trying to find the person she had lost—
Inside the one still standing there.
At the doorway, Xejo paused.
She didn't turn back.
But her voice remained.
"Don't come near her again."
A breath.
Then—
quieter.
"…You already took enough."
The door closed.
And with it—
Something else did, too.
Sana didn't move.
The silence pressed in, but it wasn't empty.
It was filled with something he couldn't name.
Something missing.
His chest tightened.
Not pain.
Not exactly.
More like—
absence.
As if something had been removed, leaving only the space behind.
[What… did I forget?]
The thought surfaced on its own.
Uninvited.
Unanswered.
Slowly—
He turned.
Alice stood there, trembling.
Tears traced quiet paths down her face, catching faint light before disappearing.
"…This is my fault."
Her voice was soft.
Carefully fragile.
"I shouldn't have been here…"
"I shouldn't have taken your time…"
Each word placed with precision.
Not enough to push him away—
Just enough to make him reach.
Sana stepped forward.
Pulled her into his arms.
Instinct.
Or something else.
"It's not your fault."
The reassurance came easily.
Too easily.
"They were already like that."
He hesitated.
Then added—
"…I think."
Alice pressed into him, her face hidden.
Her body trembled.
But her breathing—
Was steady.
Perfectly steady.
[I didn't expect it to be this easy.]
The thought drifted through her mind, untouched by emotion.
[He's already uncertain.]
[Good.]
Her fingers curled slightly into his shirt.
Testing.
Claiming.
[If I move too fast, he'll notice.]
[A little more… gently.]
She pulled back just enough to look at him.
Her eyes shimmered—constructed vulnerability layered over something far more deliberate.
"Then… let me stay."
Not a demand.
Not a plea.
Something in between.
"Just until things feel normal again."
Normal.
A word that assumed trust.
Assumed permission.
Assumed permanence.
Sana hesitated.
Only for a second.
Then—
"…Okay."
The answer settled into place like it had always been there.
Alice smiled.
Soft.
Relieved.
Grateful.
And beneath it—
Something patient.
Something watching.
Something that had already begun to take root.