The fog over New York lingered longer than usual, draping the city like a mourning veil. From the penthouse of Hayes Tower, Emma stared down at the streets far below—where shadows stretched farther than the sun could chase.

In her hand, she held the decrypted Silhouette logs.

Each line detailed something impossible.

Dates from her childhood. Moments she knew. Memories she never lived.

“Memory bleed,” Callen had whispered. “That’s what the Architect was trying to engineer. Not ...