It started at dawn, but the sky did not remember it.Claire awoke in the half-dark, breathing as if she was surfacing from some silent, deep sea. Her skin prickled with a new sensation, and when she turned towards the window, the colors outside were… wrong. Too vivid. As if they were being seen through another's eyes. Not the grey filters of Mnēma, not the tint of filtered life stored—but something bare, something unrecorded.The air was heavy with life. Not sound, but presence.She stood up slowly. Her knees ached, and her hand went directly to the bedpost—but it was not her bed. The room was circular, the walls carved with symbols she did not know, yet which filled her eyes with tears. A grief not her own echoed in her chest. Her recollections fluttered around her like birds scared off a hot wire.She felt her face. It was hers. She looked at her hands. They were not.Down the hall, a man screamed. Not with fear—something stranger: confusion. Claire moved toward the sound, barefoot.