Noah found the inconsistency at 04:12 a.m.
He almost missed it.
It wasn't in what the records said.
It was in what they assumed.
Two Bodies, One Timeline
Aria Lane's medical history was pristine.
Annual checkups.
Routine labs.
Minor injuries consistent with stunt training.
Nothing alarming.
Nothing dramatic.
Which was exactly the problem.
Because people who lived clean lives didn't have perfect baselines.
They had noise.
Variation.
Scar tissue in the wrong places.
Aria's file had none of that.
"…You reset," Noah murmured.
"…You didn't continue."
The Old File Bleeds Through
He pulled up the sealed record.
The one marked DECEASED.
Different name.
Different life.
Different blood type listed.
That was the first mismatch.
Blood types didn't change.
Unless someone lied.
Or someone didn't bother updating because the patient wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
Scars That Should Be There
The deceased file listed injuries.
Serious ones.
fracture, left radius
burn scarring, upper back
micro-shrapnel, thigh (not removed)
The Aria Lane file?
Clean skin.
No surgical notes.
No follow-ups.
No mention of scars.
"…You can't erase metal," Noah whispered.
"…Only hide where it went."
Which meant—
Someone had treated her off-record.
Someone with access to surgeons who didn't file reports.
The Date That Breaks Everything
Then he saw it.
A routine blood panel.
Time-stamped six months after the port explosion.
For Aria Lane.
Before her first credited role.
Before her public existence truly began.
And the numbers—
The iron count was wrong.
Not unhealthy.
Just… specific.
Consistent with blood loss followed by long-term recovery.
"…You were healing," Noah said quietly.
"…Not training."
Which meant—
She hadn't just survived.
She had been rebuilt.
Aria Knows This Part Is Fragile
Across the city, Aria paused in front of a mirror she didn't need.
She rolled her shoulder once.
Then again.
The joint moved smoothly.
Too smoothly.
"…That's the part you'll notice," she thought.
"…If you're stubborn enough."
She touched the faint line near her shoulder blade.
Barely visible.
A scar that shouldn't exist—
And one that shouldn't be missing.
Noah Stops Digging
Not because he was done.
Because he was scared of what came next.
Medical records weren't just personal history.
They were jurisdiction.
Ownership.
Liability.
If her files didn't match—
Someone had signed off on that discrepancy.
Someone powerful enough that no automated system questioned it.
"…You're not just hiding," Noah realized.
"…You're being protected."
And protection always came with strings.
The Question He Can't Avoid
Who authorized the rewrite?
Not the extraction.
Not the cover.
The care.
Someone had decided she was worth saving.
Worth resources.
Worth silence.
And now—
Worth monitoring again.
Closing Beat
Noah shut the files and powered down the laptop.
He sat in the dark longer than usual.
Medical records didn't match.
Which meant the lie wasn't just social.
It was institutional.
And institutions didn't make mistakes.
They made choices.
Aria Lane wasn't an accident.
She was an outcome.
And somewhere, someone was deciding—
Whether that outcome still served a purpose.