Her hands tightened around her teacup. Just slightly. Enough for me to notice.
"They put electrodes on your temples. Created an artificial Gate in a laboratory. Tried to transfer a consciousness into your body." I watched her face as I spoke. "The integration failed. You nearly died. But somehow you survived. And afterward, you had no memory of what happened."
Silence.
Then, softly: "I have dreams sometimes."
I waited.
"Dreams where I'm floating in darkness. Dreams where something vast is watching me. Dreams where I hear voices speaking in languages that don't exist." She looked down at her tea. "I always assumed they were just nightmares. Side effects of stress or exhaustion or the trauma of raising a child alone in a world that didn't want me."
"They weren't nightmares."
"No." She met my eyes. "I don't suppose they were."
