The neon hum of the "Static Lounge" felt louder than usual, or maybe it was just the silence between Elias and Sarah. On the table sat a battered data-chip, the only thing left of the Project Echo files.

"If the memories are fake," she said, her voice trembling, "then what are we? Are we just leftovers from a decommissioned simulation? Were we ever actually there?"

Outside, the city lights flickered, a momentary stutter in the grid that looked suspiciously like a reboot. They held on tighter, two ghosts waiting for the sun to rise—or for the screen to go black.

Elias finally reached out, covering her hand with his. His skin felt warm, his grip firm. It felt like a lifetime of shared history lived in that single touch.

Elias didn’t look up. He was staring at a glitch in the wall monitor. "I have those same memories, Sarah. But I checked the transit manifests this morning. There was no shuttle launch in 2042. There wasn’t even a Project Echo."