Claire.
He double-clicked.
His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. "You left your scarf at my place. The gray one."
He paused the movie. Neo was mid-air, fist cocked back against a Sentinel. Frozen. Perfect.
At the end, when the Machine said, "It is done," and the sky over Zion broke into clean, blue dawn—Leo didn't cry. He just sat, absorbing the grain of the 1080p transfer, the way the light caught the rain on the rooftop. Neo was gone. Trinity was gone. But the sunrise remained.
He pressed play.
Instead, he looked at the file name. -CM- . He’d never known what the tag meant. Some old release group, probably. But tonight, his brain rewrote it. Choice Made.