00:59:54
The digital clock on the wall blinked red, steady as a heartbeat.
Isla blinked against the light, throat dry, head pounding. Cold tile pressed against her spine. A thin film of sweat coated her skin. She sat up slowly, eyes scanning the sterile white room, no windows, no doors. Just four smooth walls and that glowing red clock, ticking backward. She stood on shaky legs. Her clothes were damp, blood-smeared, but she felt no pain, no wounds, no memories.
"Hello?" Her voice cracked in the silence. "Anyone?"
Static crackled from above. She looked up, tiny speakers embedded in the ceiling. The static turned to something worse.
Laughter. Then her own voice, distorted:
"Don't look in the mirror." Her breath hitched. "What the hell is this?" On the far wall, a section slid open with a hiss. A black corridor. Dim lights. Nothing beyond. The clock ticked louder now.
00:59:06
She didn't want to move, but staying felt worse. Whatever this place was, it wanted her to wait, to listen and to obey. So she ran.
The hallway stretched too far for the space it should occupy. Walls pulsed slightly, like lungs. The air grew heavier with each step. Her footsteps echoed louder than they should. And then, something moved. A flash of pale skin. A flicker of motion just ahead, around the corner. She skidded to a stop, held her breath and waited. Whispers.
She couldn't tell if they were in the air or in her head.
You left us. You always leave us.
"No," she whispered. "I don't know you."
Then why do you know the way? She turned. At the end of the hall, a mirror had appeared, standing on its own. She didn't want to look. But her legs moved anyway. Her reflection stared back, eyes dark, mouth sewn shut. The clock in her mind screamed: 00:58:00.