The door clicked behind Lilith as she stumbled into her apartment. The room felt strange as she leaned against the wall, gathering her thoughts. It felt too quiet, too peaceful. She looked down at her hand, her eyes landing on a visible gun. The weight was heavy; the metallic exterior was cold against her skin.

  “No,” she whispered. “It’s all over. It’s done.”

  The gun vanished. The shift between Leo’s memories and her reality remained distorted. She pushed herself off the wall, dragging her feet along the uneven wooden floor. Her legs buckled as she collapsed onto her couch.

  “What the hell was I thinking?” she questioned herself.

  The vision of the air marshal, the pilots, and the blood was burnt behind her eyelids. Open or closed, she saw them. Their cold, soulless expressions. Her stomach churned as she relived every second of the plunge towards the ground. The fear and helplessness of the other passengers and their screams. The crushing weight of guilt loomed over her.

  “I killed them. I crashed that plane. I… I was him.” The words barely escaped her dry, cracked lips.

  The truth hit her like a train. Her nails dug into her temples, her knuckles white from the tension. I didn’t do it. It was him. It was Leonardo Hernandez.

  She bolted to her feet and headed straight to the bathroom. She gasped at her reflection. He was there. But then he wasn’t. She stared back at herself, her once vibrant, peachy skin now pale and gloomy. She shivered as her eyes lingered on her features. Why had she agreed to do something like this? Was she really this desperate?

  Her thoughts travelled to Ravenwood. His calm and ominous demeanour was unsettling. Could she really trust him or anything he said? She took a deep breath as the storm of questions swirled endlessly in her mind. There were no definite answers—not yet.

  “Get a grip on yourself.” She fired at her reflection.

  Lilith splashed a handful of cold water on her face, smearing her coat of makeup across her face. “You have to be stronger than this.”

  After a long moment, she cleaned herself up. Lilith’s eyes flickered to her laptop, gleaming from the bright, gleaming moon. Its dark screen reflected the still reality of her room as she hesitated. She needed to know. The screen pierced her eyes, stinging despite her efforts to squint past the discomfort. Her fingers moved effortlessly.

  Leonardo Hernandez Plane Hijacking

  Her screen flooded with results, her eyes unable to keep up with the words being displayed. There were news reports and columns with the public's open discussions. But one caught her eye.

  162 Lives Lost in Tragic Hijacking

  Was This a Crime of Passion or was Hernandez a Pawn in Something Far Greater?

  On June 16th, 2023, Leonardo Hernandez, a disgraced restaurant owner, took control of flight 385. None of the passengers or crew survived the tragic incident. Authorities reported Hernandez acted alone. However, there has been no obvious motive identified. Reports cite Hernandez was struggling financially after losing his restaurant because of poor financial management. But there may be other contributing factors that may open up some insight as to what led to this man’s catastrophic actions.

  The article depicted him as a madman, someone who was lost in life with nothing to lose. A man who cracked under the pressure of life. She frowned at her screen.

  “No obvious motive.”

  Lilith leaned back, her pulse quickening as she reread the words. She continued her search through other articles, searching for any possible cracks she could explore. Perhaps the truth was hidden in plain sight?

  The word “truth” echoed in her mind. This is what pneuma was for. The opportunity to reach into these cracks and dig up the uncovered story. Her fingers hovered over her mouse, biting her lip before she clicked on her email.

  To: Dr. R. Ravenwood

  Subject: Meeting

  Dr. Ravenwood,

  There are a few things I would like to discuss. I want to meet in a park or a café, perhaps. Let me know what works for you.

  L. Hayles

  She let out a long exhale as she hit the send button. The now dark screen left her alone in her still apartment. She shut her laptop with a sigh, tucking her loose hair behind her ears. The sleepless nights were finally catching up to her, but Leo’s memories refused to shake off.

  She rubbed her eyes as she stumbled to her bed. Her head slammed into the soft pillow. Flashes of Leo and his haunting memories filled her mind. But exhaustion overpowered her thoughts and eventually claimed her.

  Lilith awoke to the chimes of her phone. She squinted, adjusting to the harsh daylight penetrating through her blinds. Upon opening her phone, a notification sat at the top.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Fovere Café, 8:30 a.m.

  Lilith flung off her covers, scrambling for her clothes. She threw on a hoodie and jeans, tying her hair back in a tight ponytail. The darkness under her eyes was noticeable as she stared at her reflection.

  “You look great,” she assured her reflection with a tone of sarcasm.

  She swung her bag over her shoulder and shot out of the door. The clouds were dark and thick, casting a comforting light on her sore eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself as the bitter wind attacked her exposed skin.

  Fovere Café sat comfortably on a quiet street local to the institute. She pushed through the door, a wave of warmth sending a shiver down her spine. The scent of fresh coffee and pastry filled her nostrils as she spotted Dr. Ravenwood sitting near the window. His hands nursed a steaming cup of coffee as his eyes rested on a newspaper in his other hand. Lilith approached, her footsteps heavy and deliberate.

  He glanced up from the newspaper, his sharp gaze meeting hers. “Miss Hayles,” he greeted with a warm smile. “What a miserable day.”

  Lilith slid into the seat opposite him. She didn’t respond immediately, her mind focused on where to begin. “Pneuma. Where did it come from?” she asked firmly.

  “Ah… well, Pneuma. Its creation didn’t involve negative intentions, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Concerns?”

  “Yes, I’m sure you have multiple concerns; otherwise, this meeting wouldn’t be necessary.” He remarked.

  Lilith’s fingers twitched against her leg. “Why does it exist then?”

  His eyes lingered on her before his lips parted. “The purpose of Pneuma is a pursuit of understanding. Decades ago, researchers studied the connection between memory and our perception of reality. I’m not proud of the foundation of Pneuma, but studies that started off as trauma developed into something far greater.”

  Lilith’s frown deepened as she finished a mouthful of her coffee. “That doesn’t answer my question exactly.”

  “We want a leg up on the truth, Lilith. A way to discover the entire story, not a story that will satisfy the media. People deserve to be painted as who they are, not with a twisted truth.”

  Lilith tapped her finger gently against the edge of her coffee cup, holding her observant glare. “Is it legal?”

  Ravenwood tilted his head. His expression remained complaisant. “Legality is a problematic construct. They often have a poor understanding of morality. Pneuma operates for the pure truth. Truth, Miss Hayles, needs no permission to be uncovered.”

  “You could’ve just said it isn’t.” She whispered.

  He smirked slightly. “Legalities aside, Lilith, Pneuma will expose every lie created by the media. It grants the opportunity to dig deep, to experience the raw memory of the one who lived it. It allows clarity.”

  “But how? How does it work?” Curiosity was clear in her tone.

  “We have a form of memory called ‘episodic memories’ that allow us to recall our past experiences through senses. Pneuma taps into our neural pathways associated with sensory recall and our emotional state during that time and place. Your mind can sync with the emotional imprint left on an object. The stronger the connection to the object, the easier it is to tap into a clearer experience.”

  “What about the dangers? What about the blurs between memories and reality?” She asked, her head pulsating.

  “Aha, yes, the impending doom of drowning in someone else’s memory. You have to remember, what you see may not always be the factual truth.”

  The knot in her stomach tightened. “But what’s the point? How can I write ‘the truth’ if the memories are flawed?”

  Ravenwood sat back, sipping from his mug. “Truth isn’t always about the facts, Miss Hayles. The truth comes from the soul of the story. Facts are objective, but Pneuma lets you feel the truth. No headline can ever achieve that.”

  Lilith remained silent, her eyes watching the ripples in her coffee. “You make it sound so easy,” she mumbled.

  “I never said it would be easy. Truth comes with a cost, Lilith. It's about whether you are willing to pay for it.”

  The air was heavy. The weight of silence pressed down on her chest as fragmented thoughts of Leo swirled in her mind. Her fingers continued their nervous tapping of her now-empty coffee cup. The crash haunted her, but a part of her refused to let it rest. Her eyes shifted away from the ground towards Ravenwood, her voice breaking the silence.

  “I want to go back.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward. “Back where?”

  “To Leo. There’s something I missed. The memory itself only shows him crashing the plane, but there’s no explanation as to why he did it.” She inhaled sharply. “You said it yourself. Memories can be flawed. But I need to see the truth, to feel it. I want to find the moment that explains everything.”

  Ravenwood’s dark eyes remained fixed on her as he sat in silence. His expression was unreadable, but his mind was active.

  “You do realise the risk of this, right?”

  Lilith nodded slowly. “I need you there. In case anything goes wrong.”

  He let out a deep sigh, and for a moment, he said nothing. But there was a glint in his eye. “Very well then.”

  Ravenwood’s office felt colder than before. Its usual warm lighting felt harsh and unwelcoming. The ring sat ominously on his wooden desk, the polished gold reflecting in the bare light. She stared at it with slight fear. How could a small, innocent object possess this much horror?

  “Remember what I said,” Ravenwood chimed in. “When you want to leave, just imagine exiting. If it becomes too much at all, you get out.”

  Lilith’s nerves grew at the tone of his voice. Her fingers wrapped around the ring, grasping it tightly as the room faded. But there was only black. No plane or the hum of an engine. No screams or infants crying. No cockpit. No sky. Just darkness.

  Panic swallowed her whole. She could feel the texture of fabric against her face, scratching at her bare skin. Her hands were tied tightly behind a cold, metallic chair. Something was over her eyes. A blindfold pressed against the bridge of her nose and her temples. She was cut off from the world.

  In the distance was a low hum of murmurs. She couldn’t quite make out what was being said, but the tone was menacing. Goosebumps ran down her arms and legs as her heart skipped a beat. The sound of a door crashing against the wall reverberated in the ground, startling Lilith. The footsteps approached slowly, each step a terrifying reminder of her inability to see her surroundings. She felt a presence close to her ears when a bone-chilling voice broke the silence.

  “Good evening, Mr. Hernandez.”