Interlude: Clepsydra

The apartment was as Mira had left it—quiet, cluttered, and humming faintly with the energy of half-finished projects. Tools and components were scattered across every surface, from the workbench by the window to the small coffee table that hadn’t seen a cup in months. Wires hung loosely from open panels in the walls, and a half-disassembled drone sat on the counter like a patient waiting for surgery.

Mira let the door slide shut behind her and leaned against it, the soft click of the lock breaking the stillness. She didn’t move for a moment, her head tilting back against the cool metal.

She scanned the room—the chaos, the machines, the blinking lights. It should’ve been comforting. This was her sanctuary, the place she’d built for herself, where gadgets and machinery replaced the noise of people. Usually, it was enough. Usually.

But not tonight.

Mira stepped forward, shedding her jacket and tossing it carelessly onto a chair. The action was automatic, but her movements were stiff, like her body wasn’t entirely her own. Her eyes drifted to the desk in the corner, where her computer lay untouched. She hesitated, her chest tightening. The train mission hadn’t gone as planned. The data was gone, wiped clean—except for one fragment, a name burned into her mind like a brand.

The Aequitas.

Her fist tightened at her side as the memories clawed their way to the surface, raw and painful. Yet it wasn’t the name that was the cause of that burning sensation within her. But the symbol she saw on the screens back in the server room. That coiled serpent.

She turned sharply, heading for her workbench. Her hands found a stray gadget, something half-built and unimportant, and she picked it up, forcing herself to focus. The familiar weight, the smooth lines of metal and plastic—it grounded her. She sat down and began tinkering, her fingers moving with a precision born of habit.

But that mark lingered, like an echo that wouldn’t fade. Try as she might, the red screen from back then flashed in her vision time and again, as if on an endless loop. Mira closed her eyes, her grip tightening on the tool.

Why now?

The whir of machinery filled the silence, usually a comforting sound, but tonight it felt hollow. The name and symbol were still there, haunting her. The memories they stirred weren’t just painful—they were suffocating.

Mira exhaled sharply, setting the gadget down. She rubbed her temples, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Get it together,” she muttered to herself.

The data for that mysterious group was gone from her tablet, erased by the mission’s chaos. But it wasn’t gone from her mind. It never would.