In the silence that followed Harper's dream, none of them spoke.
The reflection of the little girl had vanished the instant Elara turned. A trick of the light, perhaps. A shadow cast by exhaustion. But something about the girl's drenched hair and unmoving stare stayed with her like a splinter beneath the skin.
She didn't tell the others.
Not yet.
The others were fraying in their own ways. Harper now flinched at the mirrors. Dorian had started pacing like a soldier trapped in enemy territory. Jace barely made jokes anymore — which was worse than his usual banter. And Kemi… Kemi looked like she was trying to solve a puzzle with no edges.
Coyle remained unreadable.
As if this was all unfolding exactly as he expected.
The next shift came without sound.
A ripple across the floor. Just one.
Then, at the center of the room, something new appeared — something impossible.
A child's shoe.
Small. Red. Worn at the edges. The kind with little Velcro straps.
Harper gasped.
"That's—"
She knelt beside it, hands trembling.
"I had this exact shoe when I was six."
"Exact model?" Kemi asked. "Or exact shoe?"
Harper touched the inside heel. Then her face crumpled. "There's a faded letter here. An H. My mom wrote it with a laundry pen. I lost this at the playground. I remember crying for hours."
"It's a trigger," Coyle said quietly. "Memory-based anchor."
Dorian crossed his arms. "How the hell does the house have her shoe?"
"Because it's not a house," Kemi muttered. "It's a memory construct."
"But not just hers," Elara added, thinking fast. "This thing… whatever's controlling the mirrors… it has access to our pasts. Not just facts. Feelings. Regrets."
Coyle nodded. "It's not just testing truth. It's testing what you believe to be true."
Jace's voice was low. "So if we lie to ourselves…"
"We disappear," Elara finished.
A second item appeared.
This time, closer to Dorian.
A military patch with faded insignia. Blood-stained. Torn.
His face changed instantly. A flash of something — pain, recognition, guilt — and then it was gone behind stone.
He didn't speak.
Didn't even touch it.
Just turned away.
The others didn't push.
That hour, more objects appeared.
A cracked tablet, humming softly. Kemi's fingers trembled as she lifted it. "This was my prototype interface model. It was supposed to remain inside the secure lab."
A charcoal sketch of a masked figure — left where Jace sat. He stared at it for a long time.
"I drew this during a therapy session," he said. "I said it was a role I wanted to play. But… I think I lied."
A bracelet, plastic and pink, with faded letter beads: SERA.
Elara's hand closed around it before anyone could see the tears in her eyes.
This had been her sister's.
She had thrown it into the river.
The day they buried her.
They weren't alone in the room anymore.
They were in their own pasts, pulled inside out.
And the mirrors were feeding.
Watching.
Recording.
Kemi sat cross-legged now, hunched over the cracked tablet. "It's got power," she murmured. "But it's not running any OS I recognize. It's like it's mimicking my model, not duplicating it. That means the room isn't just pulling memories — it's rebuilding them in real time."
"So someone programmed this?" Elara asked.
"Or it programmed itself."
Jace barked a bitter laugh. "A haunted house built by a memory AI. Perfect."
Coyle finally stood. "I believe it's time we consider a dangerous question."
They turned to him.
"What if the mirrors aren't showing us our pasts?"
Elara frowned. "What do you mean?"
Coyle's eyes were sharp. "What if they're showing us versions of our pasts? Things we've suppressed. Changed. Forgotten. Or… rewritten."
"No," Harper whispered. "No, I remember my shoe. I know it's real."
"Memories can lie," Coyle said softly. "And this place punishes lies."
That hit them like a stone dropped into still water.
What if they couldn't even trust what they remembered?
What if their survival depended on truths they had buried — on guilt they couldn't face?
Another item arrived.
This time, near Coyle.
A cassette tape, unmarked, with a single black ribbon tied around it.
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then picked it up.
"What is it?" Dorian asked.
Coyle's mouth was grim. "A patient session. From over a decade ago. One I was ordered to destroy."
"Did you?" Elara asked.
He didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
The mirror across from him shivered.
Just once.
Like it knew.
Hours passed.
Sleep came in fragments. Conversations died on dry lips.
When Elara awoke again, her bracelet had moved. It was now hanging from the cracked mirror — looped like a warning.
Below it, a new message had etched itself across the glass:
"Truth reveals the path. Lie, and be unmade."
And beneath that:
"Trial resumes at dawn."
There was no dawn.
Not in a room without windows.
But as they stood, the light subtly changed — from pale white to golden hue — just enough to feel like morning.
Another trial.
This time, the voice returned:
"To remain, one must confess. Step forward. Speak the lie you've told yourself."
The floor beneath them glowed faintly.
A circle appeared in the center — a spotlight of sorts.
"Hell no," Jace muttered, backing away.
"I'll do it," Harper whispered.
"No," Elara said. "Wait—"
But Harper was already stepping into the circle.
The mirrors responded instantly.
The light around her deepened, and her reflection multiplied. Not just one — but five, ten, twenty Harpers surrounded her now, each with slightly altered expressions.
Some crying.
Some grinning.
Some blank.
"Speak," the voice said.
Harper closed her eyes.
"I told myself it was an accident," she said softly. "The child I… the one I pushed."
Elara's stomach twisted.
Jace looked stunned.
"I told myself she ran into the street," Harper continued. "I told everyone that. But the truth is…"
Her voice shook.
"I was angry. Just for a second. I lashed out. And she was gone. She… she died."
The mirrors flickered.
All but one Harper vanished.
The real one stood alone in the circle.
Still breathing.
Still whole.
Then the voice said: "Confession accepted. Trial complete."
The floor returned to normal.
But no one clapped. No one celebrated.
Harper stood pale, shaking, and tears traced lines down her face.
Elara stepped forward to hold her, but Harper backed away.
"I'm fine," she whispered. "I had to say it. I never said it out loud before."
"You're brave," Elara said.
"No," Harper replied. "I'm just tired of lying to myself."
They took turns after that.
One by one.
Dorian stood in the circle, face blank.
"I killed someone on a mission," he said. "A boy. I told myself it was fog of war. But I hesitated. I knew. I shot anyway. I buried the file. And the body."
The mirrors didn't flicker.
But the crack in the wall deepened by an inch.
Kemi stepped forward.
"I built something," she said. "I knew it was going to be used for control. I didn't care. I wanted the money. I told myself it was just code. Just lines. But people died."
Her reflection didn't change.
But the tablet in her lap sparked faintly, as if acknowledging her.
Jace's turn came next.
He smiled — a broken, tired smile.
"I lied on the stand," he said. "My ex… she didn't do it. But I was angry. She was leaving me. I thought ruining her was justice. She died in prison. I still see her in mirrors sometimes. Saying nothing. Just watching me."
His reflection wept.
And so did he.
When it was Elara's turn, she almost didn't step forward.
But the floor beneath her flickered.
It was her time.
She entered the circle.
The mirrors darkened.
Her reflections — all of them — stared back, unblinking.
"I was investigating the memory institute," she said. "Trying to expose the trials. The suppression protocols. I found out they were using children. One of them… was my sister."
The bracelet shimmered on the cracked mirror.
"I told myself I couldn't stop it. That I was too late. But I wasn't. I had enough evidence to blow it open. I held back. I waited. And by the time I acted… she was gone."
Her voice cracked.
"I helped kill her. Because I wanted the perfect story."
The reflections blinked.
One stepped forward — a younger version of herself.
It whispered: "Now you're telling the truth."
Then vanished.
Coyle was last.
He stood in the circle.
The mirrors didn't react.
He smiled faintly.
"I have no lies left to confess," he said.
And the mirrors cracked.
Sharp. Instant.
A web of fractures split across the wall behind him.
"YOU LIE," the voice roared.
And Coyle…
Did not vanish.
But he stumbled backward, clutching his head, eyes wide.
Like something had pierced his mind.
"No…" he whispered. "Not yet… not here…"
He collapsed.
Elara ran forward, kneeling beside him.
Blood trickled from his nose.
But his eyes were open.
And terrified.
"She's awake," he rasped.
Elara froze.
"Who?"
Coyle's lips trembled.
"The one behind the mirror."