The soft hum beneath the floor grew louder, like a machine awakening from sleep. Naya stumbled back, shielding her eyes as a pale light rose from the hidden chamber.
A metal platform surfaced, smooth and cold. And on it—
A coffin.
Glass. Sealed. And inside…
A girl.
No older than seventeen. Pale skin. Black hair fanned out like spilled ink. Eyes closed as if dreaming.
But Naya knew.
She wasn't dreaming.
She was dead.
Her breath caught. The silence inside her cracked.
This wasn't a hallucination. It wasn't another test.
The nameplate glinted under the light:
MIRA DANE.
Naya's knees buckled.
Mira. The voice in her dreams. The one who had whispered warnings when no one else spoke. The ghost that had haunted the corners of her memory.
She hadn't imagined her.
She'd buried her.
⸻
The speakers clicked again, and Kael's voice returned—colder now, like he no longer needed to pretend.
"You remember her now, don't you?"
Naya didn't answer. She couldn't.
"She begged you to run. She tried to help you. But you traded her life for your silence."
Her nails dug into her palms.
Lies. He was lying.
Wasn't he?
Kael laughed softly through the static, like he could hear her doubt.
"You were always the clever one, Naya. So desperate to be free, you gave up everyone else. You want the truth? There it is. You chose yourself."
"No," she whispered.
But the tape still sat in her hand — "NAYA. FINAL SESSION." — and the girl in the coffin was real.
Too real.
⸻
A door hissed open at the back of the room.
A set of stairs, dimly lit, spiraled down into blackness. Not another test. A message.
He wanted her to follow.
To keep chasing the truth.
To sink deeper into whatever game he'd built around her.
Naya stood trembling, her mind spiraling through images that didn't belong to her—Mira screaming, glass shattering, red-stained hands, whispers behind locked doors.
She pressed the tape to her chest like it might hold her together.
"I didn't kill her," she said aloud, as if saying it would make it true.
"But you let her die," her memory whispered back.
⸻
She stepped onto the platform beside the coffin. The glass surface reflected her face — tired, bruised, afraid. But underneath it, she could still see herself.
Still breathing.
Still alive.
She turned toward the stairwell.
If there were more truths, she would find them. Even if they destroyed her.
One step. Then another.
She descended into the dark.
⸻
At the bottom of the stairs was another hallway.
Different from the others — this one was clean. White walls. Polished floor. Cameras mounted in every corner. There were no screams here. No bloodstains.
Just silence.
And a door at the end.
She approached slowly.
The handle was warm.
She opened it.
And stopped breathing.
Inside was a mirror room—walls lined with dozens of screens playing surveillance footage. All of her. Sleeping. Showering. Crying. Talking to herself. Every room. Every moment.
He had been watching her the entire time.
But that wasn't the worst part.
On the farthest screen, a girl moved.
Not a recording.
Live feed.
And the girl…
was her.
Same face. Same hair. Same scar on the chin.
But not in this hallway. Not in this house.
In another room entirely.
Naya dropped the tape.
Her legs gave out.
What she saw on the screen—
That girl… was smiling. Laughing. Eating breakfast like nothing was wrong. Like this place didn't exist.
⸻
The speaker crackled once more.
"You've come so far," Kael said softly.
"But you're not Naya anymore. She is."
And the screen zoomed in on the girl's eyes.
Alive. Unbroken.
Whole.