"Rey, what are you doing?"
A woman's voice came from behind me.
I spun around and froze. The woman standing there was half a head shorter than me, her dark hair tied loosely behind her neck. She wore a worn, pale sweater with sleeves slightly too long for her arms. Something about her felt familiar in the way she stood, relaxed yet alert, as if she belonged here far more than I did.
"There was something there," I blurted out.
"What was?" she asked, tilting her head, confusion briefly softening her expression.
I looked back at the mirror. Whatever had been there was gone. The glass reflected only me now—steady, ordinary. I forced myself to breathe and slowly calmed down.
Then the confusion returned, heavier this time.
Who was she?
She clearly knew who I was, yet I had no idea who she might be. The diary hadn't mentioned her. There were no signs that anyone else lived here—no extra belongings, no traces of another presence.
I took a step back.
She moved faster.
Each step I retreated, she closed the distance with unsettling ease. Her movements were light and precise, almost practiced, until my back hit the corner and the cold wall pressed into my shoulders.
"Rey," she said softly, her voice steady, "why are you running away from me?"
I was too stunned to respond. My mind raced, calculating every possible escape—every explanation.
Who was she?
She couldn't have been involved in Rey's attempt to erase himself. Maybe she was an intimate partner. Or a close friend. I searched through every possibility, but none of them fit. The original Rey didn't seem like someone who formed connections at all.
Nothing made sense.
Eventually, I gave up. My situation was already bad enough—pretending might be my only option.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "Who are you?"
The moment the words left my mouth, her expression changed. The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something sharper, more controlled.
"So," she said, "it finally happened."