Floor 13's environment contrasted sharply with the desert ndscape they'd left behind. Where Floor 12 had been dominated by golden sands and oasis waters, this level featured massive amber deposits that trapped ancient creatures in translucent prisons. Twisted fossilized trees stretched toward a rust-colored sky, their branches forever frozen in reaching gestures.

  The team had established their first camp in a small clearing surrounded by amber formations that provided natural shelter. Alexander and Riva had gone to scout the immediate area, while Valeria maintained perimeter security.

  This left Elijah alone with Lyra, conducting a proper examination of her injuries now that they had retive safety and adequate supplies.

  "This might be easier if you weren't such a difficult patient," Elijah noted as Lyra attempted to reach for her toolkit yet again.

  "And it might be faster if I could help," she countered, wincing as the movement pulled at her injured side. "There's an amber formation two hundred meters east that has unusual properties. I need to collect samples before—"

  "Before you reopen this wound and we start all over." Elijah gently but firmly guided her back to a resting position. "The amber isn't going anywhere."

  Lyra sighed but relented, allowing him to resume cleaning the injury she'd sustained protecting his brother. The wound was deep—deeper than she'd admitted during their battle with the Oasis Guardian. The fact that she'd managed to work on the purification formu while in such condition spoke volumes about her determination.

  "You need to tell me if anything feels wrong," Elijah said as he carefully removed the temporary dressing. "Weapons from Architect-css teams often have hidden effects that manifest ter."

  Lyra nodded, her eyes tracking his movements with professional interest. "Your technique is impressive. More advanced than standard healer training."

  "Mother insisted on medical education beyond the basics," Elijah replied, focused on his work. "She said knowledge of biological systems was essential."

  He applied a disinfecting solution that glowed faintly blue as it made contact with the wound. According to his medical texts, the glow indicated no poison or secondary effects—a positive sign. Next came a regenerative compound designed to accelerate natural healing processes.

  As Elijah's fingers made contact with the wound, something unexpected happened. The moment his skin touched the damaged tissue, a jolt of sensation shot through his consciousness—not physical pain, but a sudden fsh of images that were entirely foreign to his experience.

  A sterile room with walls of forest green... Blurred figures moving around equipment that looked far too advanced... Brief impression of being observed, studied...

  Elijah's hand jerked back involuntarily, breaking the contact and ending the strange vision.

  "What's wrong?" Lyra asked immediately, her keen perception noting his reaction.

  "Nothing," he managed, schooling his expression. "Just making sure I don't apply too much pressure."

  He continued his work, deliberately using medical instruments rather than direct touch when possible. But as he began applying the regenerative compound with a sterile applicator, direct contact became necessary again.

  This time, he was somewhat prepared for the strange sensations, though their intensity still threatened to overwhelm him.

  A small room... Unfamiliar equipment with blinking lights... Murmured voices discussing something about "neural adaptability"... A fleeting sense of isotion mixed with determination...

  The images flickered and jumped, cking context or chronology. They weren't his memories—Elijah was certain of that—yet he was experiencing them as vividly as if they were.

  With professional discipline, he maintained his focus on the physical task despite the disorienting mental experience. The medicinal compound needed to be worked into the damaged tissue to maximize effectiveness, and he completed the procedure with careful precision, even as his mind struggled to process what was happening.

  "Your heart rate is elevated," Lyra observed, watching him closely. "Are you alright?"

  "Just concentrating," Elijah deflected. "This compound needs precise application."

  As he finished sealing the wound with a specialized bandage, one final surge of images fshed through his mind:

  A woman in a b coat, face just out of focus... A glimpse of what might be a child... Technical readouts on unfamiliar dispys... Paper documents with words too blurred to read clearly...

  Elijah completed the treatment, carefully securing the bandage and checking its seal before finally breaking contact. The foreign images immediately ceased, leaving him mentally disoriented but outwardly composed.

  "The bandage uses amber extract from Floor 16," he expined, focusing on the practical details to center himself. "Alexander acquired it from another team through trading. It accelerates healing while maintaining flexibility."

  Lyra examined his work with professional assessment. "Impressive. Where I come from, we'd use petroleum jelly and hope for the best."

  "Sector 17 has limited medical resources," Elijah acknowledged, packing away his supplies. "Yet you've survived there, and developed remarkable technical skills despite the limitations."

  A guarded look crossed Lyra's face. "Necessity drives innovation."

  "And good teachers," Elijah added. "You've mentioned someone named Tel who taught you."

  Lyra nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing her features. "She found me as a child. Took me in when no one else would."

  "Found you?" Elijah asked, the question emerging before he could consider its implications.

  "I was..." Lyra hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "I have no memory of my parents. Tel said I was left at the sector boundary as an infant. Unusual, but not unheard of in the outer sectors."

  Elijah absorbed this information, connecting it with the fractured images he'd experienced during the healing process. A child with no history, exceptional neural adaptability, sophisticated equipment far beyond Sector 17's technology level... and his mother, somehow involved.

  "You should rest," he said, setting aside his questions for now. "The compound will work better if you minimize movement for at least six hours."

  "Six hours of inactivity?" Lyra looked genuinely dismayed at the prospect. "That's inefficient."

  Elijah couldn't help but smile. "Consider it necessary maintenance. Even the best systems require downtime."

  To his surprise, Lyra didn't immediately argue. Instead, she studied him with an intensity that suggested she was solving a complex technical problem.

  "Why did you support me against Valeria?" she asked suddenly. "Back when she threatened to report my interface modifications. You had every reason to side with your own css."

  The question caught Elijah off guard. He considered his answer carefully, aware that simple ptitudes would ring hollow with someone as perceptive as Lyra.

  "I support what's right, not what's expected," he said finally. "Your modifications harm no one. They merely level a pying field that was deliberately tilted."

  Lyra's expression remained analytical. "That's a dangerous perspective for an Architect's son."

  "Perhaps," Elijah acknowledged. "But it's mine nonetheless."

  A moment of understanding passed between them—unspoken recognition that both occupied spaces they weren't meant to fill. Elijah with his questioning of css hierarchies, Lyra with her technical abilities beyond her assigned station.

  "I should check the healing progress in a few hours," Elijah said, breaking the momentary silence. "Try to rest until then."

  As Lyra settled back, Elijah moved to the entrance of their shelter to organize his medical supplies. He found himself automatically reaching for a text from his personal library system—a medical reference on neural pattern mapping he'd been studying.

  The book materialized before him, but his thoughts were elsewhere, focused on the mystery of what he'd experienced. The memories he'd glimpsed couldn't possibly be his own, yet they had felt as real and immediate as any personal recollection.

  Could they have been Lyra's memories? The sterile environments, the sophisticated equipment, the murmured technical discussions—none of it aligned with the Sector 17 upbringing she'd described. Yet if they were her memories, why wouldn't she remember such experiences?

  And most troubling of all, why had some of the images felt strangely familiar, as if he should recognize them? There was something about the color of those walls, the design of those interfaces that nagged at the edge of his consciousness.

  Elijah gnced back at Lyra, who had finally succumbed to exhaustion, her breathing steady as the healing compounds did their work. Her technical skills had consistently surpassed what should have been possible for someone with her background. Her neural interface modifications demonstrated understanding of systems that should have been inaccessible to her.

  And now these fragments of memories suggesting something far more complex than a simple orphan's story.

  Alexander returned while Elijah was still pondering these questions, his brother's footsteps deliberately audible to avoid startling him.

  "How is she?" Alexander asked quietly, nodding toward Lyra's sleeping form.

  "Stable," Elijah replied. "The wound was deeper than she admitted, but the regenerative compounds should accelerate healing significantly."

  Alexander studied him with the perceptive gaze that had always seemed to see more than Elijah wanted to reveal. "And you? Something's bothering you."

  For a moment, Elijah considered sharing his experience—the strange memory fshes, the possible connection to their mother, the questions about Lyra's true origins. But the implications were too significant, the evidence too fragmentary. Until he understood more, sharing half-formed theories would only complicate an already difficult situation.

  "Just concerned about her recovery timeline," he said instead. "We're facing increased challenges on this floor, and we're already one team member down with Valeria's departure."

  Alexander seemed to accept this expnation, though his expression suggested he suspected there was more to the story. "Riva found an amber deposit with aerial spores that match the description in the floor guide. We should be able to collect what we need without moving Lyra."

  As his brother outlined their immediate pns, Elijah found his attention drifting back to Lyra. Whatever the truth of her origins, one thing was becoming increasingly clear—the connection forming between them went beyond the practical alliance of teammates.

  He had experienced something profound and inexplicable while healing her, a glimpse into memories that raised more questions than answers. Yet rather than creating distance, the mystery had only deepened his sense of connection to her.

  When Alexander left to coordinate with Riva and Valeria, Elijah returned to Lyra's side to check her condition. The healing process was proceeding well, the specialized bandage already showing signs of successful tissue regeneration.

  As he made a minor adjustment to the dressing, he briefly pced his hand on her arm, half-expecting another rush of foreign memories. Nothing happened this time—just the normal sensation of skin against skin.

  Whatever had occurred during the healing process had been unique to that moment, that contact. Elijah wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  He settled back with his medical text, though his mind remained focused on the puzzle before him. The mystery of Lyra's origins, the unexpected glimpses into memories that couldn't be his own, the possible connection to his mother—all pieces of a complex puzzle he was determined to solve.

  For now, though, his priority was ensuring Lyra's recovery. The mystery could wait, but her well-being could not. And as he watched over her, Elijah found himself feeling more protective than professional healing protocols required—a sentiment that both confused and intrigued him.

  Whatever the truth might be, one thing was certain: the connection forming between healer and patient was becoming increasingly personal, transcending the boundaries that Terminus society had established between their respective csses.

  As Floor 13's amber light filtered through their shelter, casting everything in a golden glow that seemed to suspend the moment in time like the ancient creatures trapped in the surrounding formations, Elijah made a silent promise to himself—and to the sleeping figure before him.

  He would uncover the truth, whatever it might be. And more importantly, he would protect Lyra from those who might wish to control or exploit her unique abilities—even if that meant confronting questions about his own family that he had never dared to ask.