Silvia was sitting on a stone, slightly away from the center of the clearing. Her shoulders were hunched, her arms crossed, as if she were trying to shield herself from the place.

  Even though Monica’s body was no longer there, the crime scene still seemed to carry a morbid weight.

  Morgan stood a few steps ahead, jotting quick notes into a small notebook. The pen moved with precision, recording symbols, observations, distances, inconsistencies. When he finished, he closed the notebook and slipped it into his coat pocket.

  — That’s enough for today, — he said without raising his voice. — Let’s head back.

  Silvia let out a sigh that sounded almost like relief.

  They left the clearing and entered the forest once more.

  — Thank God, — she said. — This place gives me the creeps.

  — It took a bit longer than usual, — Morgan replied.

  Silvia cast a quick glance at his arms. The implants were visible beneath the skin.

  — It’s scary how dependent we’ve become on them, isn’t it?

  Morgan didn’t answer. He simply rolled down his sleeves, covering the implants—an action that created an uncomfortable silence as they walked.

  The terrain grew uneven. Branches and roots crisscrossed the path.

  Silvia stumbled.

  Before she could regain her balance, she dropped to her knees on the damp ground.

  — Hey, — Morgan said, extending a hand to help her up.

  She looked up at him before accepting it. Her gaze passed once more over the implants in his arms. The quick movements and calloused hands seemed to contradict the friendly expression on his face.

  Silvia grasped Morgan’s hand.

  He felt the grip—warm, human, imperfect—as she stood.

  For a brief moment, they remained holding hands. The sweet scent of her perfume and her embarrassed expression created a perfect harmony.

  For a second, they exchanged a silent look. That brief instant revealed far more than their entire conversation.

  It revealed so much that they let go, almost awkwardly, and continued on in silence, walking side by side.

  In the temple room, Isaac stood, slowly circling the table. His eyes fixed on Morgan’s arms.

  — How much better has a little machine in your body made you?

  Morgan held his gaze.

  — Did you know our motto was shortened over the years? — Isaac continued, almost proudly. — Originally it was: caro erratica est, machina exacta est. Caro mors est, machina vita est.

  — What does it mean? — Morgan asked.

  Isaac adopted a didactic, almost arrogant tone. Like someone teaching a basic truth of life to a child.

  — The flesh is erratic… — he said. — …the machine is exact… — Isaac’s voice drifted, distant, almost like an intrusive thought. — …the flesh is death, the machine is life.

  Isaac tilted his head slightly.

  — Feelings… Emotions… — he said. — They complicate life too much.

  He stopped walking.

  — The machine is straightforward.

  Morgan took a deep breath.

  — But aren’t nuances… — he replied — the curves… what make life interesting?

  Isaac stared at him for a second longer than necessary.

  Then he smiled.

  A smile capable of awakening a long-dormant anger inside Morgan. Condescending. Arrogant.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Morgan and Randy were leaning against the counter of the coffee stand, each holding a steaming cup. The street remained noisy around them, indifferent to the conversation unfolding there.

  The stand was simple. Most customers stayed standing, since there were only three tall, backless stools. The owner was an elderly man with a suspicious look, who preferred people not linger after paying. With Randy, however, it was different: he knew treating a police officer—especially a high-ranking one—well was the smart move.

  — Did they figure out why that junkie had an EMP? — Morgan asked.

  Randy took a long sip before answering.

  — Looks like drugs cause some kind of conflict in old implants, — he said. — A short circuit that affects the nervous system. Addicts get some kind of high from it… so they wait until the very last second to trigger a low-charge EMP and shut the implants down.

  Morgan frowned.

  — That’s insane.

  Randy let out a bitter half-laugh.

  — Insane, my old friend… One second too long and the brain fries.

  — And the mouth foams, — Morgan cut in darkly.

  Randy confirmed with a nod.

  Morgan fell silent for a moment.

  — Old implants… — he said at last. — Is this some kind of planned obsolescence?

  — According to Gentech, it’s a bug.

  Morgan turned slowly toward him.

  — A bug? People are dying.

  Randy sighed.

  — Either way, our hands are tied. — He rested his elbows on the counter. — The mayor demanded the investigation be shut down. Said Gentech will fix everything with a firmware update.

  They both fell quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of it.

  The cups of coffee on the counter grew cold—along with Morgan’s hopes of taking down that damned corporation.

  Randy let out a heavy sigh.

  — I tried, Morgan, — he said, his voice thick with defeat. — I talked to Aldo. He looked at me like I was an idiot. Said the orders came from above… that Gentech is untouchable.

  Morgan kept his eyes fixed on his cup.

  — I know, — he said grimly. — I warned you.

  Randy slammed his hand on the counter, frustrated.

  — And I told you to be patient! — he grumbled. — What good is having a case the prosecutor won’t even look at? It’s a rotten system, Morgan. Rotten to the core.

  — Eating out of their hands…

  — That’s what he said. — Randy shrugged. — Not much we can do.

  Silence settled between them again.

  After a few seconds, Randy cleared his throat.

  — And the Elysium girl’s case?

  Morgan took a deep breath before answering.

  — It’s disturbing, Randy, — he said. — The girl was young enough to be my daughter… or your granddaughter.

  Randy grimaced.

  — Go to hell.

  — What was she doing in a place like that? — Morgan continued. — Anti-tech… Technocrats… It feels like everyone’s gone crazy.

  Randy tilted his head.

  — Find anything?

  — I collected some evidence, — Morgan replied. — But it hasn’t been analyzed yet.

  — You think it could be an inside job?

  Morgan thought for a moment.

  — I don’t think the people in the community would kill anyone.

  Randy let out a short laugh.

  — That community… — he shook his head. — Doesn’t sit right with me. Maybe not murder, but there’s definitely some charlatanism going on. Conning a few suckers.

  Morgan didn’t respond.

  Randy noticed and cracked a crooked smile.

  — Don’t worry, — he said more lightly. — You’re smart. You’re not a sucker.

  Back at Elysium, Morgan walked between the cabins until he stopped in front of one of them. He knocked on the door twice with his knuckles, not too hard.

  After a few moments, the door opened.

  — Morgan! — Silvia said, surprised. — I didn’t expect you back so soon. Come in.

  Morgan crossed the threshold and entered the cabin.

  The interior was simple, but well cared for. The living room and kitchen shared the same space, arranged with an almost domestic functionality. A couch faced the fireplace, which occupied the symbolic center of the room.

  The utensils and furniture looked as though they had come straight from the past. Metal pots, ceramic bowls, steel cutlery with wooden handles. No plastic, no buttons. Nothing automatic—everything completely manual. The smell of wood and the natural light streaming through the window made the cabin feel warm and inviting.

  Silvia gestured for Morgan to sit.

  — Would you like anything? — she asked. — Some water?

  — No, thanks.

  She sat beside him, keeping a respectful distance, yet close enough for Morgan to feel the warmth of her body.

  — So? — she asked. — Did you find anything?

  Morgan took a few seconds before answering.

  — We’re still analyzing the evidence.

  Silvia nodded slowly.

  — I hope they find out who did this soon.

  — They always leave traces, — Morgan said. — We’ll see where they lead.

  A brief silence followed.

  Silvia tilted her head slightly.

  — But then… — she said. — Why did you come here?

  Morgan chose his words carefully.

  — I don’t want to disrupt your routine, — he began — but it would be good to stay here tonight.

  Silvia’s face lit up for an instant.

  — I need to talk to Thomas, — she said, excited. — But I’m glad you want to join us.

  Morgan took a deep breath.

  — I think you misunderstood, — he said calmly. — It’s because of the crime. I have reason to believe it could happen again.

  Silvia’s smile vanished.

  — What do you mean?

  Morgan held her gaze.

  — It’s Techmora. Who knows what else might happen?