The Reset Coup E-Book

Lena Grace Holloway

• Herausgeber: Twist & Tether Press
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Tee arrives at Harmony Estate, a secluded political retreat nestled in the mountains, with ten other carefully selected guests. They are promised deep reflection, civil discourse, and a chance to rebuild trust in a fractured society. But almost immediately, something feels off. A repeated phrase. A missing glass. A guest who vanishes—and reappears without explanation.
As the retreat’s serene surface begins to crack, Tee discovers a hidden layer beneath the rituals: a disturbing pattern of control, vanishing memories, and a theater-like script that eerily resembles his own thoughts and conversations.
And then there’s Faa, another guest whose connection to Tee feels stronger than it should. Together, they begin to pull threads from the seams of their reality—threads that lead them to a truth neither of them expected.
The question is no longer what Harmony Estate is trying to heal.
It’s who built it.
And why they can’t seem to leave.
When resistance becomes performance, and memory is rewritten by design—can you trust what you feel, or are you just reading your line?

Leseprobe

The Reset Coup

They Called It Democracy. It Was Just a Better Loop.

VERIWARP: The Truth Wasn’t Lost. It Was Engineered.

Lena Grace Holloway

Copyright © 2025 by Lena Grace Holloway

All rights reserved. This book, including all individual stories and original content, is protected under international copyright law. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced, distributed, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission from the author, except for brief excerpts used in reviews or academic commentary, which must be properly credited.

Fiction Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

Cover Image Notice:

The cover artwork for this book was created using licensed generative AI tools under commercial-use terms. It is an original, symbolic composition created specifically for this title. Any characters depicted are fictional and do not represent real individuals.

AI Tools Acknowledgement:

The cover image and/or illustrations were created using generative AI technology under appropriate commercial-use licensing. All visual elements are original compositions intended solely for this publication.

Thank you for reading this special collection. I hope you enjoy every story inside.

Table of Contents

The Reset Coup

Description

Chapter 1: Arrival at Harmony Estate

Chapter 2: Loops and Ladders

Chapter 3: Glitch in the Play

Chapter 4: Reset

Chapter 5: Stage Notes

Chapter 6: The Author’s Dilemma

Chapter 7: Harmony, Rehearsed

The Reset Coup

Description

Tee arrives at Harmony Estate, a secluded political retreat nestled in the mountains, with ten other carefully selected guests. They are promised deep reflection, civil discourse, and a chance to rebuild trust in a fractured society. But almost immediately, something feels off. A repeated phrase. A missing glass. A guest who vanishes—and reappears without explanation.

As the retreat’s serene surface begins to crack, Tee discovers a hidden layer beneath the rituals: a disturbing pattern of control, vanishing memories, and a theater-like script that eerily resembles his own thoughts and conversations.

And then there’s Faa, another guest whose connection to Tee feels stronger than it should. Together, they begin to pull threads from the seams of their reality—threads that lead them to a truth neither of them expected.

The question is no longer what Harmony Estate is trying to heal.

It’s who built it.

And why they can’t seem to leave.

When resistance becomes performance, and memory is rewritten by design—can you trust what you feel, or are you just reading your line?

Chapter 1: Arrival at Harmony Estate

The gravel crunched like static beneath the van’s tires as we rolled to a stop. I didn’t move. The engine clicked itself to sleep, ticking like a cooling oven, while the others gathered their coats and stepped into the light. My fingers remained locked on the frayed strap of my duffel, the familiar ache pulsing along my left wrist. I flexed it once. Still tight. Still real.

I was the last to exit.

The retreat grounds opened like a postcard—hillside green, unnaturally manicured, with the main building rising in perfect symmetry: four stories of glass and wood, wide verandas, and columns made to look like old stone but clearly weren’t. Harmony Estate, the sign read. Gold letters on black slate.

A breeze lifted the collar of my coat as I stepped out. Pine. Fresh earth. Lavender, maybe. The scents collided. My eyes burned.

A woman in beige slacks and a silk scarf approached with a clipboard and a laminated smile.

“Tee, welcome. You’re our final guest.”

She extended a hand. I shook it with hesitation. Her skin was cool, dry. The kind of touch that didn’t ask questions.

“We’re so honored to have a dramatist in the cohort,” she continued. “Please, this way.”

I followed her across the gravel path. Ten figures waited by the steps. They smiled politely. Some nodded. Others looked past me, toward the van. As if expecting someone else.

Ten. Including me, eleven.

The woman with the clipboard raised her voice gently. “Let’s give Tee a warm welcome.”

Muted applause.

I wanted to disappear.

***

My assigned room faced the eastern ridge. Through the wide glass, I could see the woods taper off into a rocky cliff, and beyond that, mist rising from something unseen. Water, I guessed. I didn’t ask.

I unpacked slowly, making a ritual of it: socks, then shirts, then the small ceramic turtle I always traveled with—green, chipped at the edge of the shell.

I placed it on the window ledge. A tether. You’re still you. Still grounded. Still here.

The bed was too soft. The walls too quiet.

At five, the chime sounded—a soft bell echoing through the hallway. A reminder. Dinner.

***

We gathered in the common dining room, all eleven of us. The long table looked set for a banquet: candles, folded name cards, bowls of bread that looked untouched.

I found my name near the far end. Across from me sat a woman with short hair and round glasses. She smiled with faint recognition.

“You’re Tee, right? The teacher?”

I nodded.

“Faa.” She extended her hand. Warm. Grounded.

We made small talk—where we’d traveled from, what we thought the retreat would be like. She’d worked in community planning, she said. Had left after a burnout episode last year.

I offered nothing in return.

Around us, others buzzed: stories, jokes, shared nods. A strange cohesion, like they’d all been here before.

And then it happened.

From my left, a man in a gray blazer leaned in and said:

“Well, if democracy is a performance, I just hope I remember my lines.”

I froze.

I’d heard that exact sentence thirty minutes ago in the welcome hall. Same tone. Same rhythm.

The same man had said it then, too.

I looked around. No one reacted.

Faa buttered her roll. “You okay?”

I tried to smile. “Yeah. Just… déjà vu.”

***

After dinner, I lingered on the veranda. The moon was a silver coin behind shifting clouds. Pine trees swayed like dancers with slow, secret choreography.

Footsteps approached. Faa again. She held two mugs of something steaming.

“Chamomile. Figured you looked like the kind who skips dessert.”

I took the mug without thanks. We sat on the cushioned bench in silence, shoulders close but not touching.