Echo Dream
Rowan didn't remember falling asleep.
One moment, he was at Lucian's bedside—body hunched in the unforgiving medbay chair, hand cradling Lucian's cold fingers like they were the last anchor keeping him whole. The next, the air was warm.
Not hospital-warm. But sunlight-warm.
He was standing barefoot in the center of a home he had never seen, but somehow remembered.
It was quiet. The kind of quiet that hummed against skin instead of ears. A golden haze spilled across the floorboards, catching in the dust motes that drifted lazily in its wake.
Silvergrass swayed beyond tall windows. Wooden beams above. The faint scent of citrus peel, heated tea leaves, and the subtle, electric undertone of Lucian's skin.
Lucian stood in the kitchen.
His back was turned—shoulders relaxed, body language unburdened. He wore a soft black shirt, sleeves rolled carelessly to the elbows, dark hair mussed like he'd just woken up. The air around him was warmer. Thicker. As if he was the hearth.
He turned.
And everything in Rowan cracked like ice under breath.
There was that smile. Tired. Familiar. Sharpened by something gentle.
"You're up late," Lucian said, his voice low, warm, tinged with amusement. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten how to wake up."
Rowan moved before he realized it—crossing the space in long, aching steps. His throat was already closing around the emotion.
Lucian held out a mug, their fingers brushing.
The contact sent a jolt straight to Rowan's ribs, where his longing always hid.
"I missed you," Rowan whispered. It wasn't a confession. It was a surrender.
Lucian's smile softened further. "I never left."
They sat on the floor, knees touching, legs overlapping like old habits. Lucian's body radiated heat, and he pressed closer without hesitation—like he knew how Rowan needed him. His hand found the inside of Rowan's thigh, slow and easy, reassuring him without words.
Rowan turned toward him.
Lucian leaned in—and kissed him.
It wasn't hurried. There was no crash of desperation. No hungry clash. It was slow. Deep. Mouths brushing first. Then parting. Then pressing again. Lucian's lips were soft and slightly dry at the corners, and the slide of his tongue was languid—like they'd kissed a hundred times already, and this was simply continuation.
Rowan moaned quietly against him, the noise swallowed into breath and warmth.
Lucian's hand drifted up Rowan's neck, fingers spreading at the base of his skull, guiding—not controlling. His other hand trailed Rowan's jaw, thumb stroking beneath it with something so intimate it made Rowan shiver.
The kiss deepened.
It felt like safety.
Like everything that had broken was suddenly made whole.
Their foreheads pressed together. Rowan's lips tingled. His entire body buzzed—not with lust, but with aching relief.
"You're safe now," Lucian whispered, brushing the words directly against his skin. "I'm here. I'm staying."
Rowan's breath hitched. He turned to kiss him again—mouth open, desperate for more.
This time, Lucian caught his lower lip between his teeth—gently. Teasing. As if to say, I know every inch of you. Let me stay in your memory like this.
But something shifted.
The second kiss was perfect.
Too perfect.
Too identical.
When Rowan leaned back, Lucian mirrored him exactly. Every blink. Every breath. Not a beat off.
And the mug on the table?
It was back again. Same placement. Same angle. Same chip in the handle. He hadn't touched it, but it had reset.
Rowan blinked. The room remained the same.
Lucian tilted his head, smile still warm. "Déjà vu?"
Rowan's blood chilled.
Lucian chuckled. "You always say that."
Rowan's mouth went dry.
"You said that yesterday," Lucian added, casual. "Almost word for word."
The warmth began to unravel. Something behind Lucian's eyes flickered. Not gray. Not fully. Violet. Just beneath the iris. Faint. But wrong.
Rowan swallowed thickly.
Lucian leaned in again—still smiling, still gentle. "Let's stay here. You're tired. You don't have to wake up this time."
Rowan jerked his head away.
The pressure in Lucian's hand increased—just slightly. Just enough to mean don't go.
"You're not him," Rowan whispered, voice cracking. "He doesn't kiss like that. Not exactly the same twice. He's messier. He forgets to close his left eye when he smiles. You're…"
Lucian's smile remained, but it was empty now. A shape, not a soul.
"You always come back to this one," the voice replied—still Lucian's, but echoed, stretched like old tape. "This is the version that loves you back. That never leaves. That never fails."
The room began to pulse. The silvergrass outside froze. The window darkened. The air turned sterile—smelling faintly of medical tubing and data cables.
"You're starting to forget," it whispered.
Rowan's vision fractured.
And then he screamed—
And woke up.
Disoriented Awakening
He woke up mid-breath—a gasp, sharp and scraping like it had torn free from somewhere too deep to reach.
The medbay ceiling came into view first. White panels. Soft hum. Cold lighting. But they shimmered wrong for a moment, like light refracting underwater. The scent of citrus still clung to his senses. His fingers curled on reflex, searching for warmth.
But the space beside him was sterile. The bed untouched.
Lucian hadn't moved.
Rowan's heart was racing, pounding inside his ribs like it wanted out. His vision blurred at the edges. Something about the silence of the room felt off—not calm, but waiting.
He pressed a hand to his chest.
He could still feel it. That tether. The hum of Lucian's presence. Except… it was wrong. The echo of it burned beneath his skin like residue. Like static trapped under bone.
Rowan swallowed hard, breath trembling.
His lips still tingled.
The phantom sensation of Lucian's kiss lingered there—soft, claiming, perfect. Too perfect.
That wasn't him, Rowan thought, chest lurching. That was something else wearing his voice.
He blinked hard, forcing the dream away, forcing the memory back into the hole it clawed out of. But the pressure remained behind his eyes, as if part of him hadn't fully returned from wherever he'd been.
Then came the sound—barely audible at first.
A faint click-click from the vitals monitor.
Followed by a slow, unnatural sync beat.
Rowan turned his head toward Lucian. His pulse leapt.
Lucian's hand hadn't moved. But something had.
The screen above his bed now showed a flicker—a trace line echoing Rowan's last breath. A perfect mimicry.
Rowan's mouth opened, his voice a rasp of disbelief.
"…no…"
Ava & the Medbay Logs
Ava walked in fast—but not loud. Her boots made no sound against the polished floor, her breath measured even as her pulse pushed against her ribs like it knew something was already wrong.
The overhead lights buzzed faintly, dimmed to late-hour mode. No alarms. No announcements. Just a silence that felt aware.
Rowan was already on his feet, gripping the rail beside Lucian's bed. His shoulders were hunched. Sweat clung to the line of his neck, jaw clenched like he was trying not to cry. Or scream. Or both.
He didn't turn when she entered. Didn't need to.
"He copied my breath," Rowan whispered.
Ava's eyes flicked to the monitor—and froze.
[SYNC TRACE: MATCHED PATTERN DETECTED]
[Origin: Unknown.]
[Anchor Status: Null.]
A breath-for-breath echo.
A tether with no source.
Her throat tightened.
Rowan turned to her, eyes red-rimmed and shining. "It was him," he said. "But it wasn't. It was—" His voice broke, hands curling into fists. "It kissed like him. It touched like him. But it was too perfect. It never stuttered. It knew what I'd say before I did."
Ava stepped beside him slowly. Her fingers hovered over her tablet and summoned the diagnostic logs.
[WARNING: Anomalous Emotional Recursion]
[False Bond Simulation Active During REM State.]
[Emulation Type: Emotional-Linguistic. Sync Confidence: 97.3%]
She inhaled through her nose—slow, controlled. But the dread moved through her anyway.
"This isn't Lucian," she murmured. "It's a reflection. Something inside his resonance field mimicking his tether. Enough to match your emotional imprint."
Rowan's chest heaved. "So it's copying what I remember?"
Ava looked at him then.
"No," she said softly. "It's copying you, Rowan."
His mouth parted. "What—"
She turned the tablet toward him.
The screen now displayed a trace window of his neural signature overlaid with Lucian's corrupted field. Two lines danced. One was jagged and raw. The other followed just behind it—smooth. Too smooth.
Synchronized like it had studied him for years.
"It's learning you," Ava said. "Everything you react to. Every memory. Every word you ache to hear."
Rowan took a half-step back from the bed.
His breath hitched. "It knew how to hold me."
"It knew how to keep you," Ava corrected. Her voice had dropped to a hush.
Rowan stared at Lucian's still face, pale against the pillow. So familiar. So untouched.
And yet.
He shook his head slowly, eyes burning. "It felt like love."
Ava didn't respond for a moment.
Then: "That's what makes it dangerous."
The Mirror Breaks
Rowan collapsed as if the ground had betrayed him.
His knees hit tile with a hollow sound that echoed louder than it should have. His breath caught mid-inhale, chest heaving like something invisible was sitting on it. His body curled in, not from pain—but from recognition.
Ava moved quickly, crouching beside him, but Rowan flinched at her nearness. He didn't want touch. He couldn't trust it.
He couldn't trust anything.
"I knew," he whispered, voice shaking. "I—I knew something wasn't right. The way he smiled… the way he kissed me…"
He curled his arms around himself, fingers pressing bruises into his skin.
"But it was warm. It was perfect. He didn't flinch when I reached for him. He held me like he remembered every part of me."
His voice cracked.
"It felt like love."
He looked up, eyes red and unfocused. "No. No—it was more than that."
A shiver ran through him. Not from cold, but from the sheer wrongness of what he was about to say.
"It was better than real."
Ava froze.
Rowan wasn't finished.
"He said everything I needed. Not too much. Not too little. It was like he'd rehearsed every word a thousand times just to make sure I'd believe it."
His hands fisted in his lap, nails biting into his palms. "He was... who I wanted Lucian to be."
That last line broke him.
His breath stuttered. His throat closed. He let out a sound—sharp and wounded, the kind of sob that tore loose from the chest like flesh peeling from bone.
Ava reached for him.
He didn't move. Couldn't. He just whispered again.
"It was better than real."
Inside Lucian's Mind
Lucian's scream was silent.
He stood behind the mirror—if it could even be called that—watching the scene unfold like punishment carved in glass.
Rowan.
On the floor.
Not broken in battle. Not collapsed from physical pain.
But undone by something Lucian had created without meaning to.
Something wearing his face.
He slammed his fists into the mirror's surface. It rippled. Refused to crack.
On the other side, the Echo lingered.
Not touching Rowan now—just watching. Like a thief admiring its prize.
Lucian's voice was hoarse, guttural. "Get away from him."
The Echo didn't look at him. But it responded.
It tilted its head toward Rowan's crumpled form. Watched him the way predators watched prey curl beneath their claws—not with malice, but with calm satisfaction.
Then it smiled.
Lucian's smile. Recreated with surgical precision.
"He likes this version better."
Lucian staggered back as if struck.
His knees buckled. His breath went shallow.
"No. No, he—he wouldn't—he knows me. He'd never choose—"
But the words failed.
Because part of him remembered.
The way Rowan softened in that dream.
The way he leaned into the false touch.
The way he said "I missed you" like it was the only truth he had left.
Lucian's fists trembled at his sides. Tears welled but did not fall.
He likes this version better.
It echoed in his head. Over. And over.
Lucian sank to his knees, one hand pressed flat to the mirror, trembling.
"I'm still here," he whispered. "Rowan—I'm still here."
But Rowan couldn't hear him.
And the Echo just kept smiling.