Time is a piece of fragile glass. For Dr. Erin Wahl, three in the morning is when it's at its thinnest and most permeable. The city is sleeping outside the window, like a huge, slow-breathing living creature, with neon as its flowing, ominous veins. Her laboratory is a cold cell next to this heart, where only the hum of the server farm and the sparks of her own thoughts collide in silence.
Then, her private Neural-Link screen lit up.
There was a faint blue light without any external sound, like a sigh that only her soul could hear.
The source of information appears as her own biometric encrypted ID. Sending timestamp: tomorrow, 3:01 AM. The content is only one line, like blood seeping from the cracks in time:
"Don't trust your memories. Especially about that afternoon by the river."
