Fourteen years earlier, my mother had begun building a future I knew nothing about.
“Who is she?” I asked.
My mother opened her eyes.
Before she could answer, the lights went out.
The monitors vanished into blackness.
A mechanical lock snapped into place above us.
Brandon rushed toward the staircase, but the hidden door had sealed.
Then the emergency lights flickered on, bathing the archive room in dim red.
A warning message appeared across the central monitor.
REMOTE DELETION INITIATED.
My mother stared at it.
“That isn’t possible.
