Chapter 35: Show Me What I Deleted The counter dropped to forty-five. I didn’t move. Not at first. Mira’s hand stayed on my chest, fingers spread just above the red numbers. I could feel the pressure of her palm through my shirt. Not heavy. Not soft. Just there. Like she was holding me in place. Like she was making sure I didn’t run. I grabbed her wrist. Not gently. Not carefully. I clamped down hard, fingers digging into the bone. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. Her eyes stayed on mine, calm and steady, like she’d been waiting for this. Like she knew I’d do it. “Show me,” I said. My voice came out rough. Low. Like I’d been screaming for hours and didn’t have anything left. “Show me what I deleted.” She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The room answered for her. The surgical logs dissolved. Not slowly. Not with a fade or a flicker. One second they were there, hundreds of them, floating between us like ghosts made of paper. The next, they collapsed into each other, folding inward, shrinking, twisting, until all that was left was a single screen. Flat. Bright. Hung in the air like a window into another world. The screen pulsed once. Then it played. Mira. Not the Mira standing in front of me now. Not the one with the blank face and the quiet voice. This Mira was younger. Thinner. Pale. Lying on a table. Wires taped to her arms. A tube in her throat. Her eyes were open. Wide. Terrified. She was begging. Her lips moved. No sound came out at first. Just the shape of the words. Then the audio kicked in, low and broken, like it was being pulled from a damaged recording. “Stop.” Her voice cracked on the word. She tried again. “Please. Stop.” Her hands were strapped down. She couldn’t move them. Couldn’t reach for me. Couldn’t grab my arm. Couldn’t pull me back. All she could do was look at me. Look right into the camera. Look right into my eyes. “Don’t do this.” Her breath hitched. She swallowed hard. The tube in her throat bobbed. “You don’t have to do this.” I let go of Mira’s wrist. I didn’t mean to. My fingers just opened. Like my body forgot how to hold on. Like it gave up before my mind did. I stumbled back. Not far. Just enough to break the space between us. Just enough to feel the air rush in where her hand had been. Just enough to feel the cold. The screen vanished. No warning. No fade. One second it was there, Mira’s face filling the frame, her voice still echoing in my ears. The next, it was gone. Like it had never been there at all. The floor where the screen had hovered was empty. Except for the scalpel. It was embedded in the tile. Blade down. Handle up. Clean. Sharp. Gleaming under the light. Like it had been waiting there the whole time. Like it had been placed there just for me. I stared at it. Forty-four. The number blinked in my chest. Red. Unmistakable. Ticking down. One breath gone. Just like that. No reason. No trigger. No explanation. Just gone. I didn’t look at Mira. I didn’t look at the walls. I didn’t look at the ceiling. I looked at the scalpel. It was the only thing in the room that made sense. The only thing that didn’t feel like a trick. The only thing that didn’t feel like a lie. I knew what I had to do. I had to pick it up. I didn’t move. Not yet. I just stood there. Breathing. Counting. Waiting. Forty-four.