The emergency room reeked of antiseptic and dying hope.
Meher sat beside the hospital bed, Iravan hooked to saline, his breathing shallow but steady. Machines beeped rhythmically. The incident had nearly pushed him over the edge—whatever force had gripped Iravan's mind last night had not let go easily. But he was alive.
That was enough. For now.
"Stay strong, father," Meher whispered, brushing a strand of dark hair away from Iravan's clammy forehead. The word rolled out naturally, like a whisper of safety in the storm.
He hadn't called anyone 'father' since his past life. Yet it felt… real now.
The nurse assigned to Iravan returned. He was tall, clean-shaven, and eerily familiar. There was something in the curve of his jaw, the confident yet delicate way he adjusted Iravan's drip—
Dr. Samar.
From the modern world.
Meher's breath caught. His real father. The man who'd told him dinner was ready, who'd been replaced before Meher was murdered.
But that was impossible. This nurse couldn't be him.
The man caught Meher staring. He smiled.
Too wide.
Too knowing.
He turned and walked away, the hallway swallowing him whole. Meher didn't think. He followed.
He moved past operating rooms, through the staff corridor, and into the east wing. Dim, flickering bulbs hung above. The further he followed, the quieter the hospital became. The hum of machines, the chatter of staff—all faded until the silence pressed like wool into his ears.
He turned a corner and found himself at the entrance to the morgue.
The suspicious nurse had vanished.
But the door was ajar.
And a chill rolled out from within like breath from an open grave.
He hesitated.
Then stepped inside.
The morgue was lit by weak fluorescent lights that buzzed like dying insects. It smelled of chemicals and old blood, and something else—something he couldn't quite coin.
There were three gurneys in the center. One of them held a body covered in white cloth.
The air shifted.
Then, as if summoned by his presence, the cloth on the first body lifted gently.
It was him.
Not someone who looked like him. It was Meher.
Sun Kissed. Still. A thin line of dried blood under one nostril. Lips slightly parted. A scar just under the left eye. Another crossing the side of the lips.
He stumbled back, heart hammering.
"No. No, no, no. I'm alive—"
The cloth dropped.
The air grew colder.
The second gurney's sheet rose with a sighing sound, as though it had waited too long for someone to watch.
The body underneath wasn't him.
But it moved.
Its head turned.
Eyes opened—bloodshot. Unblinking.
They locked onto Meher.
It smiled.
The smile of someone who knew secrets. Of someone who'd been waiting to be found.
Meher took a step back.
The thing sat up.
Its neck cracked like dried twigs. Limbs too long, skin tight across the bones. No eyebrows, no lips. Just a stretched, grotesque grin full of too many teeth.
It whispered something.
He couldn't hear it. Couldn't understand.
It swung its legs down.
Meher ran.
He didn't stop until he was back at Iravan's room, panting, drenched in sweat, the image of that smile seared into his retinas.
The nurse was gone.
A different staffer was there, looking puzzled.
"You okay, sir? You look like you've seen a—"
"Don't. Don't finish that sentence," Meher snapped, pushing past and slumping into the seat beside Iravan.
Iravan stirred faintly. A groan.
"Meh...her..."
His voice was hoarse.
Meher leaned in. "I'm here. You're safe. I promise."
Iravan's eyelids fluttered.
Then he gripped Meher's hand tightly, with more strength than expected. His eyes opened wide.
"It wore your face."
Meher froze.
"What?"
"The thing… it came into the room… while I slept. And it had your face. But it wasn't you."
Meher's blood ran cold.
Iravan's breathing quickened. "It whispered into my ear in a language I didn't understand. Said it would take you back to the Mouth. Said the other yous are hungry."
He looked around, panicked. "Is it gone?"
Meher held him close. "Yeah. It's gone. Just rest. I'm not going anywhere."
But inside, his thoughts were spiraling.
He had seen his own corpse.
And another… thing pretending to be someone else.
He didn't know which was worse.
He didn't know how long he had before the thing came back.
But he knew one thing for sure:
The Restricted Section wasn't done with him.
And now it had a face.
and that was of
His.