For a moment, nothing happened. Then Arthur felt something shift in his chest—a small, strange lightness. He hadn’t uninstalled the program. He hadn’t burned any bridges. He had simply removed a signpost to a place he no longer wished to visit.
“You’re just a link,” he whispered to the screen. “You’re not even the real file. The real file is in the D: drive, gathering dust.” remove desktop shortcut
He never did. Because deleting the shortcut felt like admitting defeat. As long as that tiny arrow existed, he was still the guy who could run Athena. He still had the connection. He was just… on a break. For a moment, nothing happened
Delete me, it seemed to whisper. You’re not using me anymore. For a moment