Aveline stared at the photograph for what felt like hours.
The smiles were too natural to be faked. Lucien's arm was looped casually around her waist. Clara's head rested gently on Jules's shoulder. They looked like friends… or family. Like people who knew each other—deeply.
But in this version of time, they were barely connected. And the ring—worn on her right hand—sparked an ache so intense it stole the breath from her lungs.
She picked up the photo. On the back, beneath the date, a faint word had been scrawled in faded blue ink.
"Concordia."
A city? A code?
Her fingers trembled as she traced the word.
She needed answers. And she knew where she had to start.
Lucien hadn't stopped thinking about the woman from the rooftop. There was something about her that unsettled him. Familiarity laced her every glance, every word, as if she'd known him once in a lifetime he couldn't remember.
That night, he painted.
He didn't plan to—but his hands moved on their own. Brush to canvas, stroke by stroke, until a face appeared beneath his fingertips.
Hers.
Her eyes.
Her sorrow.
And a gold ring, glinting on her right hand.
He stepped back, heart pounding.
Had he seen her in a dream? Or… in another life?
Clara and Jules met again in secret—this time in the basement of the old university where Clara once taught philosophy.
She laid the photo flat on the table between them.
Jules stared. "You're sure this was in her safe?"
Clara nodded. "And this—'Concordia'—I don't think it's a place. I think it's a project."
Jules's expression darkened.
"You've heard of it."
"It was a classified psychological trial," he said slowly. "Started twelve years ago. Never completed. It involved artificial memory recall, experimental hypnosis, and—" he hesitated, "—time-loop simulation."
Clara blinked. "Simulation?"
Jules looked up. "What if we're not looping through real time? What if we're inside something built to mimic it?"
Clara felt her pulse quicken. "That would mean none of this is real."
"No," Jules said. "It means the pain is very real. But the world we're in? The lives we remember? They might not be ours."
Clara leaned back, breath shallow. "And Aveline?"
Jules swallowed. "She might be the original."
Aveline wandered the streets of downtown Concord Heights until her legs ached. The city hummed with familiarity, even as her memories flickered in and out like a skipping film reel.
Then, in the reflection of a glass window, she saw her.
The woman.
She looked just like Aveline—except older. Wiser. Tired in a way no sleep could cure.
Aveline turned, heart thundering.
But there was no one there.
Then her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
"You've almost found the door. Don't open it unless you're ready to lose everything."
She glanced up. The clock tower in the city center struck midnight.
The world seemed to shiver.
And across town, Lucien jolted awake—his dreams haunted by the sound of wedding vows spoken backwards.