Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
IRINA
I t wasn’t insomnia exactly. Just a kind of restlessness that had settled under my skin like static. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t sit still. The puppy was curled up on his pallet, twitching in his sleep. Rain tapped lightly at the windows. Even the city sounded quieter than usual.
I sat cross-legged on the floor of my living room with my laptop open and the television on but no sound. I’d started doom scrolling on my phone but gave that up for trying to find something more productive.
So now, I was doom scrolling on my computer. It didn’t do a damn thing for my mood nor did it make me tired. If anything, it just increased my agitation.
I searched for Graven's name again. I don’t know why.
After the research in my office, I wanted to put it all away.
I told myself to stop, that looking was only going to cause more issues.
But the encounter with the man in the greenhouse—the first one—Graven, had left more than a mark. It left a question.
That question was one I couldn’t leave alone. It haunted the edges of my mind and whispered in my ear. Unlike Kassian Harpe, the man with the slow grin and perfect timing, Graven Skotos had a digital footprint.
Small, but real. While that was somewhat unnerving, I took far more comfort in finding one man instead of dozens. Graven Skotos was listed as the founder and executive director of Thanatek Industries, with press quotes going back at least a decade.
He had no social media, but not everyone did. I had some but I really didn’t like it so I rarely used it. No personal interviews. Just the kind of clinical bio that made you think he either had nothing to hide or too much.
I needed to stop watching crime dramas. As if summoned by the thought, an episode of Law and Order kicked off on the screen. There’d been a marathon running.
“Thanatek: Reimagining End-of-Life Data with Neural-Mapped Legacy Solutions”
I clicked the link.
The homepage was kind of sterile. Soothing in that tech start-up mixed with luxury hospice kind of way. Soft grays, relaxed language. Euphemisms everywhere.
“Grief responsive AI.”
“Continuity of Memory.”
“Liminal interaction modeling.”
There were no definitions or explanations. As I scrolled, I found an interactive module labeled “Memory Archive Preview.”
I hovered, then clicked.
It opened a sample interface: a mock-up of what a user might see after “uploading” the memory of a lost loved one.
I wasn’t sure if they wanted you to upload a video or a photo, but it said memory .
The page pulsed with a soft heartbeat animation as if syncing to my presence.
Despite the seamless, if beautiful design, something about it made my stomach cramp.
Interactive or not, it was just a demo, right?
I backed out of it. Then I opened another search bar.
Graven Skotos + founder.
Then Skotos + philosophy.
Finally, just Skotos.
That was when it got strange.
An old symposium video popped up of him giving a keynote address.
The label said it was on “Transliminal Identity Structures.” I hit play and listened .
Most of the lecture went right over my head.
He covered everything in complex terms from digital soul-mirroring to the ethics of mapping grief patterns across social networks.
There was a lot more in between that I just couldn’t follow. I stopped trying and just listened to his voice. It was… kind, measured, and warm. He clearly understood everything he said, but he was patiently offering it to everyone else so we could catch up.
One comment below the video caught my eye as it ended.
“If Thanatek ever cracks true continuity, we won’t need gods to find the afterlife anymore. We’ll build it ourselves.”
I stared at the screen and re-read that comment over and over. I wasn’t sure if the commenter was trolling, making a joke, or deadly serious and leaving a prophecy.
I minimized the browser and set the laptop aside. The puppy stirred from his doze to lift his head and stare at me.
“I’m being weird, aren’t I?” I asked.
He yawned. It wasn’t really an answer.
I picked the laptop back up again. I almost hit play on the video to listen to his voice once more, but I closed that and opened a new search window. I thought about searching Kassian Harpe again, but something stopped me.
Maybe it was the lack of footprint for him and way too many other spots for his bizarre doppelgangers. Maybe it was how the plants hadn’t trusted him. They might not have been certain about Graven, but there wasn’t automatic distrust.
Or maybe I was just losing my mind. I typed in: “Thanatek + biofield irregularities.”
I didn’t expect much. Only one link pinged back. It was a cached version of a research page long since scrubbed from their public site.
It was a white paper. Co-authored by M. Andrelis.
Mara.
My chest went tight again.
“Preliminary Notes on Shadow-Tethered Entities in Post-Thanatic Liminal Zones."
I skimmed the language; like the keynote a lot of it went right over my head. It might have been written in English, but it wasn’t with any familiar terms until one footnote leapt out at me.
“…non-digital presences with anomalous canine forms have been observed near subjects with energy fragmentation thresholds approaching myth-recognition levels. Further study required. Subject Code: B-9. Bloom.”
My name.
A cold wave crashed through my body. I pushed the laptop away like it was part of the problem.
My name, in a research note. Tagged like an experiment.
The puppy abandoned his bed to cross the room and settle next to me. His dark eyes were wide, and watchful.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whispered to him. Somewhere deep in the greenhouse annex of my mind, the vines twisted tighter. The air shimmered. Something inside of me uncoiled. It wasn’t fear. It was a hell of a lot more uncomfortable than that.
It was recognition.
The morning came like it always did. Only today it was gray, damp, and as reluctant as I felt.
I hadn’t slept. Not really. Still, my body went through the motions: shower, tea, food.
The puppy watched me the whole time I was half-spiraling.
I tried to leave him at home but he was having none of it, darting out the door as soon as I opened it.
Convinced, I put him in the basket so he could ride with me again.
The air outside was wet with that almost-rain. The streets shimmered with the kiss of oil that rose to the wet surfaces but hadn’t quite washed away yet. I pedaled as hard as I could, thinking that maybe the speed could burn off the thoughts that clung to me.
That white paper with a footnote containing my name clawed at the edges of my mind and refused to let go. It had been scrubbed from the website only a couple of months earlier, but nothing indicated when she wrote it in the first place.
Thanatek had eyes on me? Was it new? Or had they always? And Mara was involved. I mean, she had to be, right? She co-authored the paper, cataloging something she hadn’t even warned me about. What about everyone else?
What about the Annex?
The moment I arrived, I went straight past the main gallery and down to the admin wing. The puppy trotted next to me. My boots squeaked slightly on the polished floor. I didn’t even bother checking my reflection in the side glass. I was too focused and too wired to care what I looked like.
I didn’t knock. The door to Dr. Eleanor Heinritz’s office was open a crack, and I pushed through on instinct. The words already formed.
“I need to talk to you about Thanatek and why my name is?—”
I stopped cold because the doctor wasn’t alone. She sat behind her desk, half-turned toward a man lounging in one of her guest chairs like it had been put there just for him. He didn’t look even a little surprised at my entrance. In fact, he smiled.
Slow. Easy. If sunshine could be trapped in a smile, he had it and it would burn if you got too close.
“Ah,” he said. “There she is. Right on time, I’d say.”
What?
He wore a tan wool coat over a navy suit, open at the collar. No tie. Polished brown shoes that had somehow stayed clean even in the mucky weather outside. His hair was golden bronze and far too perfect. His eyes? A little too bright and far too amused.
“Ms. Bloom,” Dr. Heinritz said carefully. “We’re just finishing up a meeting?—”
“No,” the man interrupted smoothly. “We’re just beginning, I think.” He rose and crossed over to me while holding out his hand. Welcome radiated off him. I took his hand almost automatically and his warmth engulfed me.
“West,” he said. “Oscar West. Independent logistics consultant. But you can call me Hermes.”
I all but gawked as I stared at him. “Excuse me?”
He grinned wider. “Sorry. Habit. Alias, not name. I go by Oscar in this century. Old names have a tendency to get heavy.”
“Oscar is here representing a legacy patron,” Dr. Heinritz said, folding her hands. “He’s expressed interest in some of our more interactive installations, particularly Future Flora. ”
Tugging my hand from his, I glanced between them. My pulse hadn’t slowed. “Is this about Thanatek?”
“Everything is, eventually,” Oscar said, smile undiminished. “But in this case? No. Not directly.”
Dr. Heinritz gave him a look.
“What?” He raised his hands. “I didn’t say it wasn’t related. Just not the reason I am here.”
Honestly, I didn’t have the spoons for this man. I turned to Dr. Heinritz. “I found something last night. About Mara. A research paper?—”
“She hasn’t been in,” the doctor interrupted gently. “And I’m aware of the work you’re referring to.”
“You knew?” It came out far sharper than I intended.
“Thanatek funds a portion of our sensory-mapping research. That’s hardly a secret, Irina.”
“No,” I countered. “But tagging people ? That’s not just data. That’s surveillance . That’s me.”