I was told to stay overnight at the facility.

  Just one night, they said.

  A precaution.

  A step before becoming an Exvertia.

  The room they gave me was quiet, too quiet.

  White walls, a narrow bed, soft lights that never fully dimmed.

  I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to my own breathing.

  Part of me felt strange excitement, like the night before a school trip.

  But most of it was worry, heavy and persistent, circling back to Connor’s words.

  Total anesthesia.

  Transmission.

  A transplant.

  I hugged my knees, trying not to think about it.

  I don’t know how long I stayed like that before I finally left the room, telling myself a walk might calm me down.

  That was when I saw him.

  Not behind glass.

  Not through a narrow opening in the wall.

  Connor stood in the corridor, sleeves rolled up, coat draped loosely over one arm.

  He looked… real.

  So close.

  Human in a way I wasn’t used to seeing.

  I stopped without thinking.

  He noticed me at the same time and paused, clearly surprised.

  “Oh,” he said. “Ria.”

  My heart jumped.

  I smiled too fast and dipped my head in a small bow before I even realized what I was doing.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “G-good morning.”

  Why did my voice sound like that?

  Up close, he felt taller.

  Older, and for some reason, I couldn’t look him in the eyes like I always did during mentorship.

  My cheeks warmed, and I hated that I could feel it.

  He smiled soft, not the teasing one.

  “Couldn’t sleep?”

  I shook my head. “Not really.”

  “Figures.” He leaned slightly against the wall. “Big day today for us.”

  I nodded, then blurted out, “I’ll do my best.”

  He chuckled quietly. “I know.”

  There was a brief silence.

  Not awkward, just thin, fragile.

  “You’ll be fine,” Connor added. “You’re stronger than you think.”

  My chest tightened.

  “Is that… something you tell all your candidates?” I asked, half-joking.

  He raised an eyebrow. “No.”

  That single word sent my thoughts spiraling.

  Wait—so that means—

  “Oh.” I laughed, flustered. “S-sorry. I didn’t mean it like— I mean—”

  He laughed this time, low and warm. “Easy. You’re overthinking again.”

  I turned my face away, embarrassed. “You say that a lot…”

  “Because it’s usually true.”

  I risked a glance at him. He wasn’t looking at me like a mentor through glass.

  He was just… Connor.

  Standing there, smiling for me.

  For a second, I thought—

  “Connor.”

  Before either of us could say more, sharp footsteps echoed down the corridor.

  “Mentor Connor.”

  The voice was cold. Official.

  Two staff members approached us. One of them glanced at me, expression unreadable.

  “Candidates aren’t allowed in this area,” the other said flatly. “You should return to your room.”

  Connor straightened immediately. “She’s just walking. There’s no rule against—”

  “This isn’t a request.”

  Something in their tone made my stomach drop.

  Connor’s jaw tightened.

  I had never seen him look angry like that—

  Controlled, but sharp at the edges.

  I stepped back instinctively.

  “It’s okay,” I said quickly, afraid the situation would get worse. “I’ll go.”

  Connor turned to me. “Ria—”

  “Good—!” the staff cut in. “You’re needed elsewhere.”

  Our eyes met for a split second. He looked like he wanted to say something, anything, but the moment was already slipping away.

  “Good luck,” he said quietly.

  I nodded, forcing a smile. “You too.”

  Then they pulled us apart, each of us led down different corridors, and no matter how many times I looked back, I couldn’t see him anymore.

  The room they brought me to was smaller than the mentorship chamber.

  Whiter. Colder.

  A single doctor waited inside, fully dressed in surgical gear.

  Beside him stood a large machine.

  Tall, cylindrical, humming softly like it was already awake.

  “Please, sit,” the doctor said calmly.

  I obeyed.

  He prepared a syringe, movements precise and unhurried.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. “This is just to help you sleep. For a smooth Exvertia process.”

  The needle slid in.

  Warmth spread through my arm, then my chest, then my head. The room tilted slightly.

  “That’s it,” the doctor said gently, guiding me as I stood. “Just relax.”

  I lay down as instructed.

  The inside of the machine opened, cool and narrow.

  As they slid me in, my eyelids grew heavy.

  Just before the world went dark, one thought surfaced, clear and sharp.

  Connor promised.

  Then everything faded.