Chapter 63. What Her Mother Left

The cube hovered above the base of the sixth pillar.

It was not glass. Not metal. It looked like light pressed into shape—humming, pulsing faintly with a rhythm that matched Adria’s heart.

She reached out.

And touched it.

The vault went dark.

Not blind.

Focused.

A ring of light expanded from the cube’s surface, tracing the air like a lens aperture opening. And within that ring—her mother appeared.

Not an illusion.

A projection. Clear. Intact.

Young.

Thirty, maybe. Wearing the half-buttoned Archive coat. Hands gloved with ink stains. Her hair tied in the same knot Adria remembered—not functional, but habit.

She didn’t look up.

Not yet.

She was adjusting something just out of frame—a device of rings and glass, half-formed.

Then, as if sensing someone, she turned.

And looked directly at Adria.

“If you’re seeing this,” she said, “then I’ve already failed.”

Adria stood frozen.