POV: CirrusV
Location: Shared Quarters, Caleront
Time: Cycle Day 13.91
Tags: post-party quiet, Tattoo discomfort, hidden message, false memory, Leloma absent, Orion entry
The room had gone still, but the Tattoo hadn’t.
CirrusV shifted beneath the window ledge, shoulder pressed to the soft-frame curve, one leg half-curled beneath him.
A low ache had settled along his spine—the kind that didn’t belong to posture, but to memory.
He let it hum.
The lights had dimmed without cue. Mesh filters soft-faded into evening mode.
Air temp: neutral.
Soundscape: idle.
Everyone had left or drifted into sleep.
Even Jallen.
Even Levan, whose laugh had folded the air just an hour ago.
Only the small ceramic cup remained, ghost-ringed on the prep surface.
Veinshot half-evaporated.
Shardnut crumbs like a star chart in miniature.
Leloma was gone.
No note. No reason.
Not that she owed him either.
He closed his eyes.
Not to sleep. Just to still the surface.
And then—
A hum.
Not ambient. Not structural.
Filtered.
CirrusV turned toward the desk alcove. The screen was dark.
But something behind it pulsed faintly—like breath behind glass.
Not active. Not dead.
He stood. Slowly.
The Tattoo pulsed as he crossed the room—sharp, then slow.
Each step a question.
The screen flickered once as he neared.
Then again—slower.
A glitch?
No—too deliberate.
The mesh unspooled a single frame.
Leloma. Side profile. Backlit.
Not recent.
Hair shorter.
Voice filtered, too low to parse.
Then—
Him. Or almost him.
Speaking. No sound.
A gesture he didn’t remember learning.
A moment that didn’t feel stored in him.
The Tattoo bit.
Along the neck. Beneath the ribs.
The screen stuttered—
Frame-skip.
Compression smear.
Then the two images—his and Leloma’s—overlapped.
Glitched.
Blended.
He stepped back.
The lights stayed dim.
The Tattoo eased.
Then—
A click.
His voice.
Softer than usual.
Wired with something he couldn’t name.
“If she finds out, none of this holds.”
Then static.
Just that.
Not a full sentence. Not a memory.
Just him, in his own tone. Saying something he never said.
CirrusV stared at the blank screen.
His hands didn’t shake.
But they didn’t move either.
The silence in the room now felt shaped.
Built for listening.
The window reflected only his outline—and something faint behind it. A shimmer, not his glow. Not Leloma’s either.
The Tattoo dimmed, but not fully.
CirrusV exhaled, slow. Measured.
Eyes on the screen, now black.
A pause.
Then—
“You don’t remember saying that.”
The voice was quiet. Too quiet.
Not guilt.
Not accusation.
Just… knowing.
CirrusV didn’t turn.
He didn’t need to.
Orion was always just behind the silence.