Director Hale watched from the observation rail, silent through the first moments of awakening.

  “Take it easy,” Hale said at last. “You’ve been under for a while.”

  Cael’s gaze sharpened, searching the room. His voice came rough but urgent.

  “Where are they? My family, Erin, Lila, Evan, are they all right?”

  Hale blinked, caught off guard. “Your family?” He frowned slightly. “I’m not sure who you mean. There are many people here right now. Describe them for me.”

  Cael hesitated, then spoke as if reciting a dream he was trying to hold onto. He drew a breath and rubbed his temple, as if the motion could hold the memory together. “Erin. She worries too much. Her hair’s dark, tied back when she’s working. She’s a nurse at Portland Medical Center. Lila’s the youngest. She hums when she paints. Evan asks questions about everything. He never stops.”

  He looked down for a moment. “They were waiting at home. The lights were on. I was late.”

  Hale let him speak, listening quietly. “And where was this?” he asked.

  “In a city,” Cael said. “There were bridges, towers, traffic, human structures. I was driving. Rain was on the glass.”

  He paused, confusion overtaking him. “But I’ve never driven anything like that. I’ve never even been to a human city.”

  He turned sharply toward Hale. “What’s happening to me?”

  Hale studied the monitors before answering. “You sustained severe neural resonance collapse. The bridge stabilized your neural patterns. It’s not a standard method, but it kept you alive. You were in a unique situation. It required a unique solution.”

  Cael’s eyes narrowed. “A bridge? Between me and who?”

  “A human,” Hale said quietly. “The one you were recovered with, the police officer Rynel attacked. His name was Talon Rowe.”

  Cael’s expression shifted from disbelief to dawning realization. “Then Erin, Lila, and Evan, they’re his family.”

  Hale nodded once. “That would make sense.” He adjusted the slate in his hand and continued in an even voice. “Don’t let it trouble you. These kinds of residual flashes are common after a deep bridge connection. The mind sometimes borrows foreign imagery while it repairs itself. They’ll fade, probably within a day or two.”

  Cael looked uncertain. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m certain,” Hale said gently, though his eyes lingered on the harmonic drift across the monitor. “Just fleeting after-effects. Nothing more.”

  He offered a small reassuring smile. “Try to rest. You’ve been through enough. When you wake again, this will all be behind you.”

  Cael exhaled slowly, letting the words settle, though a part of him already knew they wouldn’t.

  Hale gave one last look at the readings, then turned toward the door. The seal closed behind him with a soft hydraulic hiss. He walked the length of the corridor in silence, the rhythmic hum of containment fields following him. His expression never changed, but his thoughts did. The residual harmonics he had seen weren’t fading. They were stabilizing.

  He tapped his comm-link. “Medical Bay, this is Director Hale.”

  A voice answered almost immediately, quiet but alert. “Yes, sir?”

  “I’m assigning you to monitor Cael Veythar. He’s exhibiting patterns outside normal post-bridge recovery.” Hale’s tone was calm, clipped, clinical. “Keep him sedate only if necessary. More importantly, keep him calm. If he asks about the memories, tell him they’ll fade soon. Reassure him. Repeat it if you have to.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. And document everything. Any mention of names, places, sensations, I want a full record.”

  He ended the transmission. The lift doors slid shut, and the hall fell silent again.

  ***

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.