The flickering gas lamp cast long, dancing shadows across the grimy alley wall, mirroring the uncertainty that churned within Elara. The courtyard, the laughter, the child with eyes like molten gold – the memory felt intensely real, yet the accompanying image of the sterile laboratory, cold and clinical, chipped away at its authenticity. It wasn't just a clash of images; it was a clash of identities. One whispered of a sun-drenched childhood, full of warmth and laughter, the other of a cold, controlled environment, of experimentation and secrets. Which was the truth, or was the truth something else entirely, a complex tapestry woven from fragments of disparate realities?

Jax, her unlikely ally, a wiry man with eyes that held the weariness of countless betrayals, sat across from her, nursing a cup of something that smelled suspiciously like recycled rainwater. He'd been a memory broker himself, once, until a botched deal left him with a fragmented past he couldn't afford to reclaim. His cynical understanding of the memory trade offered a stark counterpoint to Elara's naive hope.