Mira stared at the screen.
The footage played in grainy black and white, flickering like an old security feed. The room was sterile — white walls, metal chair bolted to the floor, bright overhead lights. A woman sat across from the camera, bound by wrist straps.
It was her.
Or someone who looked exactly like her.
Her hair was shorter. Her face younger. But there was no doubt.
This was *her*.
And she was speaking.
> "You have to stop it," the younger version of herself said. "Before it resets again."
A voice off-camera responded — calm, measured, familiar.
> "Subject 014, you are experiencing temporal dissonance. This is not your current timeline."
The speaker stepped into frame.
Mira's breath caught.
It was Evelyn Hart.
But not the Evelyn she knew.
This one wore a lab coat. Her expression was clinical. Cold.
Not a therapist.
A scientist.
The video paused.
Then skipped forward.
More footage.
Different angles.
Mira watching monitors filled with data streams. Scientists taking notes. Electrodes attached to her temples.
Another voice:
> "ChronoSync has successfully linked Subject 014 to multiple consciousness states. Temporal recall remains unstable but increasing."
Mira leaned closer.
Her hands trembled.
She pressed play again.
This time, she saw something new.
Herself — older. Weaker. Speaking slowly.
> "I remember everything now," she whispered on the screen. "And I know what happens next."
Then she looked directly into the camera.
> "If you're seeing this… I failed."
The screen went dark.
Silence.
Then the flash drive ejected itself automatically.
Mira sat back, heart pounding.
This wasn't possible.
And yet…
She had seen it with her own eyes.
She reached for her phone.
Daniel answered after two rings.
"Did you watch it?" he asked immediately.
"I did," she said. "That was me. In a lab. Talking about timelines."
There was a pause.
"Okay," Daniel said carefully. "So we're officially not dealing with hallucinations anymore."
"No," Mira said. "We're dealing with something worse."
"What?"
"I think I've lived this before."
Daniel didn't answer right away.
Then he said, "Are you saying you've been through this exact sequence of events? Same choices? Same people?"
"Yes," she whispered. "And every time, I fail."
He exhaled sharply. "Mira…"
"I need to find Evelyn," she said. "Now."
"She disappeared last night."
"I know," Mira said. "But I also know where she's going."
---
### 🔍
Mira arrived at Evelyn's house just after sunset.
Rain had picked up again, drizzling softly against the windshield as she pulled up to the quiet suburban street. The house was modest — white siding, overgrown garden, porch light flickering like it couldn't decide whether to stay on or give up entirely.
She knocked once.
No answer.
Twice.
Still nothing.
She tried the door.
Locked.
But the window beside it was cracked.
Just enough.
She slipped inside.
The air was thick with dust and silence.
"Evelyn?" she called out.
No response.
She moved through the living room, kitchen, study — all empty.
Until she reached the basement door.
It was closed.
And sealed with a digital lock.
Mira examined the keypad.
Six digits.
She hesitated.
Then typed in the only number that made sense.
**014999**
The numbers clicked.
The lock beeped.
Then the door opened.
---
### 🧠
The basement was unlike the rest of the house.
It was clean. Organized. Filled with files, computers, and a single chair surrounded by wires and sensors.
A neural mapping station.
Mira approached cautiously.
On the desk was a notebook.
Open to the last page.
Written in Evelyn's hand:
> *"She remembers now. The loop has begun again."*
Beneath it, circled twice:
> *"Find Lena before the Red Door opens."*
Mira swallowed hard.
Lena.
The girl who shouldn't exist.
The girl who kept drawing flames and doors.
She turned toward the monitor on the desk.
It blinked to life.
Footage loaded.
Security camera feed.
Date stamp: *Present day.*
Location: *St. Vincent's Psychiatric Hospital.*
Time: *Two hours ago.*
Mira watched as Evelyn entered the building.
Alone.
Then someone followed her.
A man.
Tall. Dark jacket.
Sunglasses.
The same watcher from the crime scene.
From Jonah's conversation.
Mira's pulse quickened.
She grabbed her phone.
Dialed Jonah.
Three rings.
Then his voice came through, low and wary.
"Mira."
"You need to tell me the truth," she said. "About ChronoSync. About Evelyn. About what happened here."
Silence.
Then:
"We were trying to help you," he said finally. "All of us."
"By erasing my memories?"
"That was supposed to protect you."
"Protect me from what?"
Jonah hesitated.
Then he said:
"The fact that you weren't the only one."
Mira froze.
"What do you mean?"
"There were others," Jonah said. "Test subjects. People who showed signs of temporal perception. You were the first to stabilize. The first to survive."
Mira's breath hitched.
"And the others?"
"They didn't make it," Jonah said quietly. "Except one."
Mira's stomach twisted.
"Who?"
There was a long pause.
Then Jonah said:
"Evelyn."
---
### 🔥
Mira hung up the phone.
Heart hammering.
She scrolled through the footage.
Watched Evelyn walk deeper into the hospital.
Then disappear.
Into the hallway marked:
> **"Restricted Access – ChronoSync Lab"**
She grabbed the flash drive.
Slipped it into her pocket.
And left the house.
She had to get back to St. Vincent's.
She had to find Evelyn.
And more than anything —
She had to find Lena.
Because if Lena was real…
Then so was the Red Door.
And whatever waited on the other side.
---
### 👀
By midnight, Mira was back at the hospital.
Rain fell harder now, soaking the pavement, turning the ground slick beneath her boots.
She entered the same way she had earlier — side entrance, rusted door groaning as she pushed it open.
Inside, the cold hit her again.
Thicker this time.
Like the air itself resisted her presence.
She walked down the corridor.
Past the reception desk.
Past the files room.
Past the therapy chambers.
Then stopped.
At the stairwell.
The message carved into the wall.
> **"THE RED DOOR IS OPENING."**
She reached out, touched it.
Cold.
Too cold.
She climbed the stairs slowly.
Reached the second floor.
Moved silently.
Then she heard it.
A child's laughter.
Soft.
Playful.
Out of place.
She turned the corner.
There she was.
Lena.
Sitting cross-legged in front of a door.
Painting.
Mira's breath caught.
The door was red.
Bright.
Glossy.
New.
As if it had just appeared.
Lena looked up.
Smiled.
"You found me," she said.
Mira stepped forward carefully.
"Who are you?" she asked.
Lena tilted her head.
"You already know."
Mira swallowed hard.
"I want to remember."
Lena stood.
Walked to the door.
Placed her small hand on the handle.
Then looked back at Mira.
"You should be careful," she said softly. "Sometimes, remembering is worse than forgetting."
Then she turned the knob.
The door creaked open.
Darkness beyond.
And a voice from within:
> "Welcome back, Subject 014."
Mira took a step forward.
Then another.
And another.
Until she was inside.
And the door shut behind her.
Mira wakes up in a stark white room — no windows, no clock, only a mirror across from her. She realizes she's being observed. Not just by scientists, but by *herself*. On the other side of the glass stands Future Mira — cold, broken, and warning her of what's coming. And when Lena appears again, whispering a name Mira never knew she had, the final pieces begin to fall into place.