Hiro couldn't sleep.
[He lay in the white bed, staring at the white ceiling. The Garden was quiet. Too quiet. Like a graveyard where the graves were hidden under clean floors.]
'She's not here,' he thought. 'She was never here. But someone made sure of that.'
[He sat up. Small feet on cold floor.]
The empty room from before — [the one with dust and no red] — it was still burning in his mind. He needed answers. Not from caretakers. Not from Ichigo's worried eyes. From the building itself.
---
[The hall was dark. Night-lights glowed soft blue. Hiro walked fast, keeping to the shadows.]
He remembered this place. [Not from this life. From before. From the timeline where he walked these halls as a pilot, not a broken child.]
There was a lower level. [Restricted. Forgotten. Where they kept the "special" subjects.]
He found the elevator. [A small door, metal, no windows.]
There was a keypad. [Red light. Locked.]
Hiro stared at it. [In his old life, the emergency override was simple. A code Dr. Franxx used when he wanted to visit his experiments without the committee knowing.]
He typed: 0-0-2-1-6.
[The light turned green.]
The door opened. [Soft hiss of air. Cold smell. Like a fridge for living things.]
'How?' Hiro thought, stepping inside. 'Why would the code be the same in a world where she doesn't exist?'
[The elevator dropped. His stomach jumped.]
---
The lower level was dark.
[Not white like upstairs. Gray. Old. Walls with black stains that might be rust... or might be something else.]
Hiro walked down the hall. [Small feet making soft sounds. Heart beating loud.]
Cells lined both sides. [Empty. Bars retracted into the walls. Beds with thin mattresses.]
He looked inside each one. [Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.]
Then — [the last cell on the left.]
The door was different. [Scratched. Deep grooves in the metal. Like claws. Like something with horns wanted out.]
Hiro stopped. [His breath came short. Fast.]
He touched the scratches. [Cold. Sharp. Real.]
'These are hers,' he thought. 'In my timeline, she was always scratching. Walls, floors, me. A habit. A nervous thing. Like she was marking the world so it couldn't forget her.'
[He pushed the door. It creaked open.]
Inside: [A small bed. A broken chair. A high window too small to climb.]
And the walls.
[Drawings.]
Child drawings. [Crude. Made with something red — paint? Blood? Hope?]
Hiro stepped closer. [His legs shook.]
He saw a boy with blue horns. [Smiling. Reaching.]
He saw a girl with red horns. [Grinning sharp. Holding the boy's hand.]
Above them: [A bird with one wing. Two heads. Flying.]
And words. [Scratched deep. Child letters. Crooked. But clear.]
"002"
"DARLING"
"TOGETHER"
Hiro's knees hit the floor. [Hard. He didn't feel it.]
'She was here,' he thought. Tears burned his eyes. 'In some version. In some time. She was here. She drew this. She wrote my name. She waited for me.'
[He touched the word "DARLING." His finger came away red.]
Not paint. [Too warm. Too alive.]
The wall pulsed. [Like a heartbeat. Like two heartbeats, synced.]
---
"You shouldn't be here."
[Hiro spun around.]
A figure stood in the doorway. [White coat. White hair. Not old. Not young. Ageless.]
She smiled. [Kind. Terrible. Like a doctor who enjoys cutting.]
"This room was pruned," [she said, stepping inside. Her shoes made no sound.] "Erased from the records. Scrubbed from memory. The children upstairs don't know this floor exists. The caretakers don't know. Even the great Dr. Franxx of this timeline... he only suspects."
Hiro backed against the wall. [Small. Scared. But angry too.] "Who are you?"
"Someone who cleans up loose threads," [she said, tilting her head. Her eyes were gray. Flat. But when she blinked, Hiro saw something behind them — static, numbers, timelines folding.] "You, 016, are very loose. A soul that doesn't belong. Memories that shouldn't exist. A bond with... no one."
[She looked at the drawing. The red word. Her smile flickered. Almost sad.]
"The question is simple," [she said, reaching toward him. Not touching. Just reaching.] "Do you want the pain to stop? I can prune you too. Make you fit. Make you happy. A good boy in a good world. No more dreams of red. No more holes in your chest. Just... peace."
'Peace,' Hiro thought. 'The same peace that erased her.'
"No," [he said. His voice was small. But hard. Like stone under water.]
The woman paused. [Her hand hung in the air.]
"No?" [She laughed. Soft. Disappointed.] "Then the pain continues. And the hunt begins."
[She lowered her hand. Stepped back.]
"She doesn't exist here, little 016," [she whispered.] "And if you keep looking, you won't exist either. Not in any timeline. Not in any memory. I will cut you out like a dead branch. Clean. Quiet. Efficient."
[She turned. Walked to the door.]
Then stopped. [Looked back over her shoulder.]
"But the walls remember," [she said, pointing at the drawing.] "Even after I paint over them. Even after I change the code. The walls remember. And so do you. For now."
[She stepped through the door.]
And vanished. [Not walked away. Vanished. Like a glitch in a video. Like she was never there.]
---
Hiro ran.
[Fast. Small legs burning. Through the hall. Into the elevator. Up to the white world.]
He didn't stop until he was back in his bed. [Covers over his head. Shaking.]
But he had something.
[Hidden in his palm. A small flake of red paint from the wall. Warm. Real.]
He closed his fist around it. [Tight. Like holding her hand.]
'She was real,' he thought. 'She is real. And someone is hiding her. Pruning her. Cutting her out of time.'
'But they missed me. And if I'm the seed she left behind... then I have to grow. I have to break the wall. I have to find the crack.'
[Outside, the Garden was quiet. Peaceful. Perfect.]
But under the white floors, in the gray hall, a child drawing of two horned children holding hands waited. And a boy with memories of dying in light planned.