I pushed myself up slowly, every muscle protesting the movement. My body felt like it had been disassembled and put back together—which, considering what Alexis had just done, wasn't far from the truth.

But as I moved, I felt something else returning.

My System.

It wasn't like flipping a switch. It was gradual, like water filling a container. First came the awareness of it—that familiar presence at the back of my mind that had been absent for what felt like lifetimes. Then came the jobs, one by one, slotting back into place. Construction Worker. Firefighter. Detective. Astronaut. All of them, returning home.

And with them came the skills.

Superior Endurance kicked in immediately, washing away some of the weakness in my limbs. Observation sharpened my vision, bringing the room into clearer focus. Advanced Trauma Care automatically assessed my condition—elevated heart rate, mild dehydration, significant cranial trauma successfully treated.

I felt stronger. Not just physically recovered, but stronger. Like something fundamental had shifted during that surgery. During those memories.

I swung my legs off whatever I'd been lying on—a medical cot, I realized—and stood. My balance wavered for just a moment before stabilizing.

The operating table was directly in front of me.

It was covered in blood.

Not splattered or messy, but thoroughly used. Surgical drapes stained dark red. Instruments laid out in careful rows, some still glistening. The overhead light was still on, casting harsh shadows across the scene.

And beside the table, a heart rate monitor displayed a flat green line.

Flatline.

The sound—that endless, monotone beep—wasn't playing. The machine was muted. But the display was clear. No heartbeat detected.

I looked down at myself. No wires. No sensors. I wasn't connected to it anymore which explain why it was still flatlining despite me being awake.

I turned toward the mirror mounted on the wall, needing to see my own face. Needing confirmation that I was real, that I was here, that I was alive.

My reflection stared back.

I looked like hell. Pale skin. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. Hair matted with dried sweat. But most notably, running across my forehead in a neat, precise line, was a fresh suture. The skin had been pulled together carefully, the stitching immaculate, marking where my cranium had been opened and then reattached.

Alexis's work. Professional and perfect.

I touched it gently, feeling the slight tenderness beneath the suture. My skull had been opened. My brain exposed. And somehow, I was standing here, whole and functional.

But as I stared at my reflection, something else caught my attention.

Movement in the mirror.

Alexis.

She was in the corner of the room, her back pressed against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. Her platinum hair hung loose and disheveled around her face. Her shoulders shook with each sob.

She was crying.

Not quiet tears. Not the controlled, professional composure I'd come to associate with her. This was raw, uncontrolled sobbing. The kind that came from somewhere deep and broken. Her whole body trembled with it, her face buried in her hands.

I turned away from the mirror to look at her directly.

Deduction kicked in automatically, piecing together what must have happened.

The flatline monitor. The blood. Her state of complete emotional collapse.

She thought I had died.

During the surgery, something must have gone wrong. My heart must have stopped. The monitor must have flatlined. And from her perspective—standing over my opened skull, watching the life drain out of me—she would have believed she'd killed me.

Killed her partner. Her boyfriend. Someone she loved.

Because of her own incompetence. Her own failure.

Even though I knew that I'd never actually died, that there hadn't been a single moment in those memories where I'd felt death approaching, she wouldn't have known that. She would have seen the monitor. Seen the flat line. Seen my body go still.

And she would have blamed herself.

I moved toward her slowly, carefully. I didn't want to startle her. Didn't want to make this worse than it already was.

"Alexis," I said softly.

She flinched violently, her head snapping up. Her eyes—red and swollen from crying—locked onto me.

And she screamed.

It was a raw, primal sound. Terror and disbelief and something that might have been hope all tangled together. She scrambled backward against the wall, her hands flying up as if to ward off a ghost.

I expected it. Knew it was coming. But it still hurt to hear.

"Alexis," I said again, keeping my voice gentle. "It's me. I'm alive."

She kept staring, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. Her eyes were wide, uncomprehending. She looked at me like I was something impossible. Something that shouldn't exist.

Which, from her perspective, I was.

"You... you..." She couldn't form the words. Her voice broke, dissolving into another sob.

I closed the distance between us and dropped to my knees in front of her. Slowly, carefully, I reached out and pulled her into my arms.

She went rigid at first, like her brain couldn't process the sensation of solid flesh against her. But then something broke inside her, and she collapsed into me, her sobs intensifying.

"I'm alive," I murmured, holding her close. "I'm right here. I'm okay."

"You died," she gasped out between sobs, her fingers clutching at my shirt like I might disappear if she let go. "Your heart stopped. The monitor—it flatlined—and I couldn't—I tried everything—CPR, the defibrillator—nothing worked—"

"But I'm here," I said firmly, running one hand through her hair. "I'm breathing. My heart is beating. I'm alive, Alexis."

"I watched you die," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I was inside your brain, Rey. I was right there. And your heart just... stopped. For three minutes. Three entire minutes. And I thought—I thought I'd killed you. That I'd pushed too far, gone too deep, damaged something critical—"

"You didn't kill me."

"I could have!" she shouted, pulling back to look at me with tear-streaked fury. "Don't you understand? I had your brain open, Rey. One wrong move, one tiny miscalculation, and you would have been gone. Permanently. And for three minutes, you were gone. Your heart wasn't beating. You weren't breathing. The monitor showed nothing."

"But I came back," I said, cupping her face in my hands. "I came back. You didn't lose me."

"You don't know that!" Her voice cracked again. "You don't know what those three minutes were like. Standing there, watching the monitor stay flat while I did chest compressions. Shocking your heart over and over. Knowing that every second that passed, the chances of you waking up—of you being you when you woke up—were dropping. Knowing that I might bring you back only to find that I'd destroyed your mind in the process."

I pulled her close again, letting her bury her face against my shoulder. "But you didn't. I'm still me. My mind is intact. Better than intact, actually. I saw things, Alexis. During the surgery. Important things."

She let out a bitter laugh that was more sob than humor. "That's exactly what someone with severe brain damage would say."

"I'm not brain damaged."

"You literally died and came back," she said, her voice muffled against my shirt. "That's not normal, Rey. That's not something people just do."

"I'm not normal people," I reminded her gently. "I'm the only person in the world with multiple jobs. I have an SSS-Rank title that shouldn't exist. Nothing about anything we do has ever been normal."

She was quiet for a moment, her breathing slowly starting to even out. The sobs were subsiding, replaced by occasional shuddering breaths.

"I thought I lost you," she whispered finally. "When your heart stopped, I thought... I thought that was it. That I'd never hear your voice again. Never see you smile. Never..." She trailed off, her grip on my shirt tightening. "I've lost patients before. It's part of being a doctor. But this was different. This was you."

"I know," I said softly. "And I'm sorry you had to go through that. But I'm here. I'm alive. And whatever you did in there—" I touched the suture on my forehead "—it worked. It worked better than either of us could have hoped."

"What do you mean?" she asked, finally pulling back enough to look at me properly. Her eyes were still red, still wet with tears, but there was curiosity there now. Professional interest starting to reassert itself.

"I saw things," I said. "Memories. Lives. The origin of the System itself. And more importantly, I saw Subject 3840. I saw... me. Before I became Reynard Vale."

Her eyes widened slightly. "You accessed memories? How? Through the System?"

"More than accessed. I lived them." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "And I think I understand now. What makes me different. My job title is the only one that connects multiple Systems together...which is why I can access multiple different jobs."

Alexis stared at me, and I could see her mind starting to work again. Processing. Analyzing. "Well either way...I got the unique neural pathway that's connected to your System...we...we can undo the Cain Protocol now."

"Exactly," I said. "So your surgery? It wasn't a failure, Alexis. Even if my heart stopped. Even if you had to bring me back. It was worth it. We got what we needed."

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks, but these felt different. Not despair. Relief, maybe. Or exhaustion. Or some complicated mixture of both.

"Don't ever make me do that again," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Promise me, Rey. Don't ever make me cut into your brain again."

"I promise," I said, pulling her close once more.

She relaxed against me, her breathing finally starting to return to normal. The adrenaline was wearing off, exhaustion taking its place. I felt her body grow heavier in my arms as sleep began to claim her.

"Stay," she mumbled against my chest. "Don't... don't leave..."

"I'm not going anywhere," I assured her.

Within minutes, she was asleep. The crying had drained her completely, and her body had simply shut down to recover. I held her carefully, not wanting to wake her, and just focused on breathing. On being alive. On being present.

Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.

Multiple sets. Quick and purposeful.

The door burst open.

Camille entered first, her wild energy on full display. "We heard screaming and—"

She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes going wide.

Sienna was right behind her, concern written across her face. "Alexis never screams. We thought—"

She stopped too.

Evelyn came last, her blindfold still in place, but she stopped in the doorway as if she could sense what the others were seeing.

All three of them stared at the operating table.

At the blood.

At the surgical instruments.

At the flatlined heart monitor still displaying its accusatory green line.

Nobody spoke.

Nobody moved.

They just stood there, frozen, as the implications of what they were seeing settled over them like a heavy blanket.

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