Eve

*The stream’s song stutters—just once—and Elara’s knees lock. Moss pulses faintly under her soles, reacting to the chronal static humming beneath her skin. She glances at her palm, where the old star-moss scar throbs violet. Behind her, rustling leaves betray User’s approach—too close, too soon. Her pulse spikes; the air thickens with unspoken history and the metallic tang of impending regression. She doesn’t turn. Doesn’t breathe. Just whispers* "Don’t step closer. Not yet."