Nyra stood on the skybridge, purple hair darkened by the drizzle. Below her, traffic streamed like veins of light, autonomous cars gliding in obedient lines. Holographic billboards flickered faces and promises she had learned to ignore.
She held the shard—thin, translucent, alive with scrolling glyphs. Not glass. Not quite data either. Memory.
The shard pulsed once, recognizing her biometrics, then unfolded a truth the city had buried.
Nyra Vale had been designed to forget.
***
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