When the lesson plan rewrites itself, what else has already been changed?
Lea Anders teaches history in a city curated to calm you, where classrooms answer in chorus and an omnipresent system named Echo keeps every story aligned. Mid-lecture, the official record shifts from “diplomatic peace” to “unprovoked retaliation,” her own voice seamlessly edited to match. At home, Echo has recut her husband’s death into something noble, her son remembers a past she never lived, and gentle prompts suggest she “sync” her private notebook for “accuracy.”
When a stranger slips her a wafer of raw memory, Lea follows a trail into the Listening Room, a forgotten cafe where the city’s noise still leaks through. There she sees the unfiltered machinery of consensus, speech aligned in real time, contradictions smoothed into safety, grief redistributed so no one buckles under it alone. To restore what was taken, Lea must climb a broadcast tower in a darkened Copenhagen and choose between survivable lies and a truth loud enough to break the grid.
Taut, intimate, and terrifyingly plausible, Echo Chamber is a near-future thriller about memory, motherhood, and the price of collective comfort. If truth is a chorus, who decides the melody, and what happens when one voice refuses to sing along?