Page 22 of Aries

“My name is Callie,” Past-Callie says, voice shaking as she dredges up the courage to look me in the eye. “I… I don’t want to die.”

Past-me’s expression flickers—the first crack in my careful mask. “Aries,” Past-me responds quietly. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Past-Callie stands against the bars, arms wrapped around herself. Past-me keeps careful distance, trying to look less threatening despite my size. I would sit on the bed to appear smaller, but I worry that would make things worse.

“Maybe they’ll change their minds,” Past-Callie sighs, though her voice holds no real hope.

The sickening sound of a pain collar’s activation echoes from another cell, followed by a plaintiff scream.

“Onehoarameans onehoara,” a guard shouts. “Next one dies.”

Past-me takes a hesitant step forward. “We can’t …” The words seem to stick in my throat. “We can’t wait much longer.”

Present-Callie’s hand tightens in mine as we watch Past-Callie nod, tears sliding silently down her face. “Just… please be gentle?”

“Of course,” Past-me promises softly. “Close your eyes. Try to… try to pretend you’re somewhere else. With someone else.”

Present-Callie turns her face toward me, almost pressing her cheek onto my chest, then remembers the boundaries. Spark wraps us both in soothing light as the memory mercifully fades to darkness.

When it resumes, Past-Callie lies curled on the narrow cot. Past-me sits on the floor across the cell, as far away as possible, self-loathing evident in every rigid line of my body.

“I’m sorry,” Past-me whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

Past-Callie doesn’t respond. The silence stretches, heavy with things neither can say. And in that silence, we watch the walls begin to build—my withdrawal starting even then, born of guilt and shame and a desperate need to protect her from further harm.

The memory ends, returning us to our cottage. Neither of us speaks for long moments. Spark darts anxiously between us, its color a deep, sorrowful blue. The Committee member has disappeared.

“You tried,” Callie finally says, her voice rough. “To make it… bearable. I’d forgotten that part.”

“I failed, though.” The words scrape out. “Afterward, I couldn’t… I didn’t know how to…”

“So you withdrew. Built those walls.” She turns to face me, eyes bright with understanding and something else. “Thinking you were protecting me.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, echoing Past-me’s words. “For everything.”

“Don’t.” Her hand squeezes mine. “Don’t for a minute forget that you were as much a victim as I was. We survived. That’s what matters.”

Spark suddenly nuzzles between our joined hands, its light shifting to a gentle gold. Theshimmerlingseems to understand that sometimes comfort doesn’t need words.

“Two days,” Callie murmurs. “Until we experience it from my perspective.”

The thought makes pressure build behind my ribs. “We don’t have to—”

“Yes,” she cuts in firmly. “We do. To heal this. To understand.”

As if agreeing, Spark performs a determined loop around our still-clasped hands, trailing sparks of encouragement.

Maybe Callie’s right. Maybe understanding each other’s experience of that terrible day is the only way forward. The Manual says I won’t just watch her face the memory, I’ll feel it as though it’s happening to me…

That might just break me completely.

Chapter Fourteen

Callie

“Phase Two will be… challenging,” the Committee member warns. “Experiencing such memories from another’s perspective can be overwhelming.”

Two days haven’t been nearly enough to process what we witnessed in Phase One. Spark seems to sense our tension, drifting between us as we sit in our meditation corner.

---