"You have a pending public convergence—the wedding," the professor said.
"A wedding is a forced consensus event. If even one participant experiences real doubt, the entire structure destabilizes." He remained standing, looking through the shadows of the study as if positioning himself outside the frame of our chaotic reality. "This is your greatest opportunity! If the replacement isn't complete, it will fail under pressure."
Hope ignited in my chest. Real hope.
We spent the rest of the day working through the execution. "You," the professor said to Nathan, his expression grave, "are the anchor. That means proximity. Continuous recognition. It cannot break."
"How continuous?" Nathan asked.
"Unbroken," the professor replied, his tone brooking no argument. "Your eyes must be locked on her at all times. Do not let her leave your sightline for even a single second. Whenever possible, maintain physical presence. Your 'observation' is the only thing keeping her existence grounded."
The professor turned to me. He picked up the yellowed photocopy from the desk, folded it carefully, and tucked it into his breast pocket. Then, he handed me an old but rugged satellite phone.
"And I will remain here with this final physical anchor," he said quietly. "Remember: I will only recognize calls made from this phone. To me, the holder of this device is the one and only Evelyn Hart. I am your last line of defense."
By the time we left, the light outside had faded. That night, Nathan and I sat together on the edge of the bed. For the first time in days, we weren't planning. We were just there.
"I don't think I ever said thank you," I said quietly. "For staying." Nathan didn't answer right away. "I didn't stay," he said. "I never left."
I leaned against him, my forehead resting against his shoulder. "When this is over," I said, "when I take my life back—I'm going to stop drifting. I'm going to be truly present. With my parents. Making up for all the time I let slip away. With you."
Nathan exhaled slowly, as if he had been holding his breath for years. "I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that."
I turned to him, my hand finding the back of his neck. "Hold me," I whispered. "Don't let me fade."
He pulled me in then, his grip almost desperate, as if he could physically bind me to the world. We didn't turn on the lights. In the velvet darkness, the touch of his skin against mine felt like the only objective truth left. Every kiss was an anchor; every breath we shared was a strike against the void.
As we came together, it wasn't just passion. It was a declaration of sovereignty. His hands moved over me with a trembling reverence, tracing the lines of my body as if memorizing a map that the rest of the world had forgotten. For those hours, I wasn't a ghost or a glitch in a system. I was a woman, loved by the only man who truly saw me.
"I've got you," he murmured into the hollow of my throat, his voice raw. "I'm looking at you. I'm not letting go."
"After tomorrow," I whispered, exhausted but certain, "we can finally have a real beginning."
I thought of Daniel. I thought of the replacement that had nearly solidified my entire life into a counterfeit existence. That would not happen again.
Tomorrow was the wedding—it was my battlefield. And this time, I was taking back everything that belonged to me.