Av

"But I needed you."

"Can you remember everything?" she asked. "But I needed you

"Let it go," AV said.

Ava pocketed the device, tucked it into her coat, and went down the stairs with the rain beginning to drum on the roof. The city looked smaller from the lane below and kinder, as if the lights had been rearranged so that nostalgia fit between them. The city looked smaller from the lane below

"I will, as long as you have power." AV's smile was patient. "And as long as you remember to press the button." She felt a tightness leave her chest, like

Ava watched until the boat vanished around the bend. She felt a tightness leave her chest, like the unclenching of a hand. Then she pressed the button again, because it was a small ritual that kept her steady, because some things are made brighter by being remembered, and because even an object with two letters etched on its spine—A V—can carry more than a name: a way to hold the present, and make room for whatever comes next.