Chapter 17:
Project RF
The observatory stood in the hills beyond the city.
A relic of a world that once believed in wonder—now silent, hollow, flickering with forgotten stars.
___ stood in its heart, the planetarium’s dome stretching above him like a cracked mirror of the sky. Dust drifted through moonlight, settling over old seats and quiet machines. His breath echoed in the chamber.
But she wasn’t there.
He waited.
An hour.
Then another.
The artificial stars overhead blinked once, twice, then stuttered in silence.
He sat down in the center of the room, the same spot where they once laughed about constellations that didn’t exist. Back when she said she would wait here. No matter what.
He held the folded star map she’d left him. The ink was smudged from his grip.
He told himself maybe she was late.
Maybe she was still coming.
Maybe.
⸻
But by nightfall, the truth pressed in.
She was gone.
Whether they took her or she chose it—he didn’t know. He couldn’t know. And somehow, that uncertainty hurt more than any answer.
He didn’t cry. He couldn’t.
Tears were a kind of luxury he hadn’t earned.
Instead, he stayed until the dome went dark. The last star flickered out with a soft click, and the world fell silent again.
⸻
The next morning, he walked.
Not to search for her. He didn’t know where to begin.
But forward.
Somewhere.
He dyed his hair. Burned his identification chip. Changed his name.
It took months to disappear from the system.
And when the labs finally stopped searching, when the cities stopped buzzing with news of a runaway genius, he slipped into the world like a drop of rain in an ocean.
⸻
He became someone else.
Not a subject. Not a fugitive.
Just a man.
One who taught science in a small coastal town, where the air smelled like salt and chalk and freshly printed tests.
He smiled when he needed to.
He laughed when it felt safe.
And sometimes, when the classroom was empty and the night was still, he’d look out the window and whisper her name.
Quiet enough that even he barely heard it.
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