And honestly? Part of me stopped wanting to.
Life with Mira was good. She moved into the apartment. We built something new on the ashes of what I'd lost. She never questioned why I sometimes called her by her sister's name in my sleep.
"You're healing," she'd say. "It takes time."
I let her believe it.
But some nights, I'd lie awake and think about my Nina. Was she looking for me? Had she built another device? Did she regret what she did?
Or had she moved on too?
The answer came at 3 AM on a Tuesday.
I woke up to a sound like reality tearing. Blue light filled the bedroom. Mira screamed.