Chapter 18 · The Save Tax

Nyx's core is still warm in my hand when he tells me the price.

"Every save you keep costs memory," he says. His voice is flat. Clinical. Like he's reading patch notes. "The tower tracks it. Loop integrity versus neurological coherence. You want out, I can map the path. But the exit sequence requires forty-seven save states minimum."

I stare at the pulsing shard of code in my palm. It's smaller than I expected. Lighter. "Forty-seven resets."

"Forty-seven deaths." He doesn't sugarcoat it. "Each one burns another chunk of pre-game memory. The system prioritizes recent data. Childhood goes first. Then adolescence. Then your twenties."

My throat goes dry. "How much have I already lost?"

Nyx doesn't answer right away. He's looking at something I can't see—probably my player log, the invisible file that tracks every mistake I've made since I got trapped here. When he finally meets my eyes, his expression is careful. Too careful.

"Your mother's face," he says quietly. "You described her yesterday. Brown hair, green eyes, scar on her chin from a bike accident when she was twelve."

"Yeah. So?"

"Today you said brown hair, hazel eyes. No scar."

The floor drops out from under me.