The sun climbed over Harper’s Ferry, washing the rooftops in honeyed light and stirring the town awake. From the old railway bridge, you could see everything — gardens, solar panels, turning windmills. The air was clean. The laughter genuine.

Aimee Dawson jogged toward school, satchel bouncing against her hip. She met her friends at Fizz, laughing about the fall dance that night.

When she got home, her mother—Mara—was waiting behind the apothecary counter, sorting bottles with calm hands.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said. “How was school?”

“Good,” Aimee smiled. “We’re decorating tonight. June’s dragging me there.”

“Good,” Mara said. “You’ll have fun.”

Aimee brushed her hair upstairs, came down in her dress. “You’ll come help, right?”

Her mother hesitated. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

As Aimee turned to leave, Mara caught her hand. “Goodbye, Aimee.”

Aimee laughed. “You mean see you later, Aimee gator.”

Her mother’s lips trembled into a smile. “Yeah. See you later.”

Outside, music echoed from the town square. Harper’s Ferry gleamed beneath the sunset. The fences stood tall. The wells ran clear. Everything was perfect again.

Above, a security light blinked once—red to green.

And far below, deep in the cold metal earth, a new record began:

Experiment Harper’s Ferry – Cycle 44: Observation In Progress.

THE END