The morning light filtered through the glass-paneled window, casting a soft glow against the sterile white walls of her apartment. It was always like this—serene, orderly, untouched. Everything in its place.

  Elia let out a quiet breath as she moved through the space, the weight of another day settling onto her shoulders.

  She reached for the small ceramic pot on the windowsill, tilting it slightly as she poured water onto the soil. The plant, a delicate vine with curling leaves, remained one of the few personal touches in the apartment. Her fingers brushed against something solid—a small, hand-carved token half-buried in the soil. She pulled it free, tracing the familiar crescent moon shape with her thumb.

  She didn’t remember where it came from. It had been there for as long as she could recall, tucked safely beneath the roots of the plant. Yet, whenever she held it, a strange warmth settled in her chest, a comfort without explanation. Something about the smooth grooves, the precise carving—it felt… significant.

  But no memory came.

  A mechanical chime broke the quiet.

  7:30 AM. Weather conditions optimal. Proceed with scheduled duties.

  Elia exhaled, setting the token back into the soil before smoothing the creases from her uniform. Another day at the wellness center. Another day in Astraeus, where everything functioned in perfect harmony.

  The streets were pristine, as always. Drones hovered overhead, their low hum barely perceptible beneath the murmur of passing pedestrians. Vendors lined the main thoroughfare, selling nutrient bars and synthetic fruit to early commuters. Enforcers patrolled in synchronized movements, their uniforms crisp, their visors blank.

  Elia walked with practiced ease, weaving through the crowds with an awareness she never questioned. The city was beautiful, immaculate. And yet, some part of her always felt… apart from it.

  As she passed a small market stand, a vendor argued with a delivery drone, his voice rising in frustration.

  “That’s not what I ordered,” the man snapped, jabbing a finger at the box the drone had delivered.

  “Correction issued,” the drone responded in clipped efficiency. “Your previous order did not align with dietary regulations. A substitution has been made.”

  A rare chuckle rose from a passerby.

  For a moment, the world felt less controlled—less rehearsed.

  Elia caught herself watching, lingering on the vendor’s exasperation, the unfiltered frustration in his movements. A small, human moment. A crack in perfection.

  She almost spoke.

  The words hovered at the edge of her tongue—something meaningless, some brief acknowledgment that this moment felt different. But she said nothing. The moment passed, the vendor sighed, and life resumed as it always did.

  She turned away, gaze flicking forward just as a group of enforcers rounded the corner.

  Their presence always left a weight in the air, a pressure that made her pulse quicken, though she had no reason to fear them. Order maintained.

  That was all they did.

  And yet—

  Her eyes snagged on the insignia emblazoned on their uniforms. Red.

  The color hit her like a blow to the chest. Too harsh. Too loud.

  Her breath stilled, fingers tightening around the strap of her satchel.

  She didn’t know why it unsettled her. Only that it did.

  She kept walking.

  The wellness center hummed with movement—patients filtering in and out, some escorted by caretakers, others shadowed by enforcers.

  Elia worked with practiced efficiency, her hands moving on instinct, her mind elsewhere.

  “Dr. Elia.”

  She turned at the sound of her name, finding one of the assistants standing beside a small child, no older than six. His knee was scraped, a minor wound but enough to bring him to the center. His wide, dark eyes watched her warily.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Elia knelt, offering him a small smile. “This will only take a moment.”

  The child hesitated as she reached for him, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve. She worked quickly, dabbing antiseptic onto the wound before pressing a thin adhesive strip over the scrape. He winced but didn’t pull away.

  Without thinking, she hummed softly, a melody forming on her tongue as she worked. The boy’s shoulders relaxed. His grip on his sleeve loosened. By the time she finished, his breathing had steadied, his gaze locked onto hers with quiet curiosity.

  Elia blinked. The tune lingered in the air, familiar yet unplaceable.

  Why had she sung it?

  The boy tilted his head. “What song is that?”

  She hesitated, lips parting as if the answer might come to her, but nothing did.

  “I… don’t know,” she admitted.

  The words felt strange. The unease curled deeper in her chest.

  “Thank you, Dr. Elia.”

  The assistant offered a polite nod as she led the child away.

  Elia remained kneeling, her hands resting lightly on her thighs as the melody echoed faintly in her mind.

  Not knowing why she sang it was the worst part.

  As she finally stood, adjusting her uniform, she caught herself—still humming the song under her breath.

  She hadn’t realized.

  The note faltered. Her throat tightened.

  She forced herself to stop and turned away.

  The wellness center hummed with quiet efficiency, yet Elia could not shake the unease pressing against her ribs.

  She was reviewing patient records when Mr. Lior arrived.

  A frequent visitor, always coming in for routine check-ups more out of habit than necessity. But today, something was different.

  He sat rigidly, hands clasped together, knuckles bone-white. His eyes darted toward the enforcers stationed at the entrance before settling on her.

  Elia approached cautiously, kneeling beside his chair. “Mr. Lior?”

  His hands trembled. She reached for them instinctively, offering reassurance. The moment their skin touched, his grip tightened.

  “Not again.”

  The words were barely above a whisper, but they sent a sharp chill through her.

  Elia swallowed. “What do you mean?”

  His gaze searched hers, desperate, pleading—but for what, she didn’t know. As if she were supposed to understand something already lost.

  Then, realization flickered behind his eyes. A slow, resigned breath left his lips, and his fingers loosened their hold. His expression smoothed into something carefully blank. An act. A practiced silence.

  Elia exhaled, something cold settling in her chest.

  She finished his check-up in silence. When the enforcers came to escort him away, his fingers curled into his sleeves, the same way the child’s had.

  As though bracing for something inevitable.

  Her break arrived before she realized it, the quiet chime in her earpiece signaling the allotted time.

  She stepped outside, seeking air that did not feel so constricted by walls and routine. The streets of Astraeus stretched before her—clean, pristine, unmoving.

  Perfect.

  Too perfect.

  She started walking, allowing the rhythm of her steps to guide her away from the wellness center, though not too far. Everything in Astraeus was mapped, calculated, designed so that no citizen ever strayed beyond where they were expected to be.

  Then, she saw them.

  A pair of enforcers stood near a transport, their rigid stance unmistakable even from across the square.

  Between them, a man. Shoulders hunched slightly, head bowed. A dissenter.

  Elia’s breath caught as the man turned slightly, his eyes locking onto hers for the briefest moment before the enforcers shoved him forward.

  Fear flickered across his face, but it was not the desperate, pleading kind she had grown accustomed to seeing in detainees.

  It was recognition.

  A shock of cold spread through her chest.

  She didn’t know him.

  Did she?

  Her fingers curled into the edge of her coat, gripping the worn fabric as the transport doors slid open with a quiet hiss.

  The man hesitated. Just for a second. His gaze never left hers.

  The enforcers nudged him forward. Harder this time.

  He disappeared inside. The doors closed. The engine hummed low and steady.

  The moment was over as quickly as it had begun, but the weight of it lingered in her chest.

  She released a slow breath, staring at the spot where the transport had been. The city moved on around her, undisturbed.

  Order maintained.

  She turned, retreating back into the wellness center before anyone noticed how long she had been standing there.

  The day passed in a blur. The unease did not.

  She returned to her apartment that evening, her muscles aching from tension rather than exertion. The familiar sterility of the room greeted her, yet it no longer felt quite as stable, quite as safe.

  She moved on autopilot, preparing for rest, but her mind remained restless.

  Lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling, her thoughts circling back to the man in the transport, to Mr. Lior’s trembling hands, to the inexplicable pull inside her chest.

  Sleep did not come easily.

  When it finally did, it was not a peaceful surrender, but a slow, uneasy descent into something restless, something waiting.

  Fire.

  A battlefield stretched before her, the air thick with smoke and the scent of scorched metal. The clash of weapons rang in the distance, the cries of the wounded merging into a hollow hum.

  She was there—somewhere in the chaos, hands bloodied, a weight pressed into her chest as though something vital had been torn from her.

  A voice called her name. Urgent. Desperate.

  She turned, but the vision blurred, dissolving before she could see the face of the one who called for her.

  The heat swelled around her, unbearable.

  She reached for something—anything.

  Her fingers brushed against something soft.

  A flower.

  Fragile, untouched by the destruction around it. Its petals stretched open despite the ruin, a symbol that did not belong in the wreckage.

  She felt it slipping from her grasp.

  No—

  The battlefield flickered out of existence.

  She awoke with a sharp inhale, her chest rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

  Her fingers curled into the sheets as she swallowed hard, her pulse hammering in her ears.

  The apartment was silent. The city was still.

  Her gaze drifted to the windowsill. To the small, hand-carved crescent moon tucked beneath the soil of her plant.

  A tether to something she could not remember.

  Her breath shuddered as she reached for it, tracing its edges with careful fingers.

  The unease in her chest did not subside.

  If anything, it deepened.