Silence.
Then—a soft, rhythmic beeping.
Ethan's eyes fluttered open.
He wasn't in his apartment.
White walls. A flickering overhead light. The scent of antiseptic. He was strapped to a metal chair, wrists bound.
A voice crackled from an unseen speaker.
"Welcome back, Subject 17."
His stomach dropped. "What the hell is this?"
The voice continued, monotone, clinical.
"Your session has been interrupted. We've been monitoring your cognitive response to the anomaly."
The room around him flickered—like a glitch.
Ethan's mind reeled. Was this real?
A screen on the wall blinked to life.
Surveillance footage. Of him. Sitting at his desk. Staring at his laptop. Frozen. Unmoving.
The timestamp read "00:00:00".
It wasn't moving. Time wasn't moving.
And then, behind his frozen self—
The reflection.
Standing. Watching. Grinning.
It turned its head toward the camera.
And waved.