The corridor felt longer than it should have.
Locke walked it without thinking—measured steps, even breathing, controlled posture. The same way he always did.
Nothing had changed.
Nothing was wrong.
And yet—
Something lagged.
It was small at first. So small it almost slipped past him.
His hand brushed against the wall.
A second too late.
Locke stopped.
Not abruptly. Not suspiciously. Just… enough.
He looked at his hand.
Pale. Steady. Familiar.
But the feeling didn't match.
It was like looking at something that belonged to him… and realizing, for a brief, disorienting second, that it didn't.
His fingers flexed.
They responded.
But the command—
the decision to move—
felt delayed.
Locke frowned.
A subtle shift. Barely there. Anyone else would have missed it.
He didn't.
He lifted his hand again, slower this time.
Watched it.
Controlled it.
Everything aligned.
Perfect.
So why—
A flicker.
Gone before he could catch it.
Not a thought. Not fully.
Just… something.
A shadow crossing the edge of his mind.
Locke lowered his hand.
He resumed walking.
Step.
Step.
Step—
A memory surfaced.
Sharp. Clear.
Wrong.
He stopped again.
This time, there was no disguising it.
His chest tightened—just slightly. A reaction he didn't authorize.
Didn't understand.
The memory lingered.
Not recent.
Not relevant.
Not his.
A hallway.
Not this one.
Warmer. Brighter.
Someone laughing.
The sound was distorted, like it was being dragged through water, but the feeling attached to it—
It hit too fast.
Too deep.
Locke inhaled sharply.
And just as quickly—
It was gone.
Silence rushed back in.
Cold. Clean. Controlled.
The way it was supposed to be.
Locke's expression hardened.
"No."
The word slipped out under his breath.
Firm.
Certain.
He started walking again, faster now.
Intentional.
Grounded.
This was nothing.
A misfire. A lapse in focus.
He had been pushed—Silas had intended that.
A tactic.
Nothing more.
Nothing—
You're not the original.
The voice didn't echo in the hallway.
It echoed in his head.
Perfectly intact.
Untouched by time.
Locke's jaw tightened.
He didn't slow.
Didn't react.
But something in his stride shifted.
Subtly uneven.
He reached the end of the corridor.
Paused at the door.
His hand lifted—
And hovered.
Again.
That delay.
That split-second hesitation that didn't belong to him.
Locke stared at the handle.
Waiting.
For what, he didn't know.
His fingers curled slowly around it.
This time, he forced the movement.
Deliberate.
Immediate.
No delay.
Control.
The door opened.
The room inside was empty.
As expected.
Still.
Ordered.
Safe.
Locke stepped in and shut the door behind him.
The click sounded louder than it should have.
He stood there for a moment.
Breathing.
Listening.
Nothing.
Good.
This was good.
He moved further into the room.
Each step precise.
Reclaimed.
His control was intact.
It had to be.
There was no room for—
A shift.
Not outside.
Inside.
Locke stilled.
His head tilted slightly, like he was listening for something distant.
But there was nothing to hear.
Only—
A feeling.
Faint.
Unfamiliar.
Wrong.
It crawled up his spine, slow and deliberate.
Not fear.
He didn't feel fear.
But—
Something close enough to recognize it.
Locke's hand tightened at his side.
He exhaled slowly.
"Stop."
A command.
To himself.
To whatever this was.
It didn't listen.
The room blurred for half a second.
Just a flicker—
But enough.
Enough to make him step back.
His heel caught slightly on the floor.
A miscalculation.
Impossible.
Locke corrected immediately, regaining balance before the movement could fully form.
But the fact that it had almost happened—
No.
That wasn't—
His thoughts fractured.
Not scattered.
Split.
Two directions at once.
One steady.
One—
Not.
A name surfaced.
Uninvited.
Unfamiliar.
And yet—
It felt like it had always been there.
Locke's breath hitched.
Just once.
Quiet.
Contained.
"Locke."
He said it out loud.
Grounding.
Reaffirming.
"I am—"
The words stopped.
Not because he chose to stop.
Because something… resisted.
A pressure in his chest.
In his throat.
Like the sentence didn't belong to him.
Like it was being rejected.
Locke's eyes darkened.
"No."
Stronger this time.
Controlled anger bleeding through.
He stepped forward—
And the world tilted.
Not physically.
Not completely.
But enough that for a split second—
He wasn't where he was supposed to be.
The room flickered.
Gone.
Replaced.
Another space.
Brighter.
Warmer.
Real.
Too real.
A voice—
Clear this time.
Not distant.
Not distorted.
Right behind him.
"—Locke?"
He spun.
Nothing.
The room snapped back into place.
Cold.
Empty.
Silent.
Locke stood there, completely still.
His pulse—steady.
Too steady.
Like his body was correcting for something it didn't understand.
He swallowed.
Slow.
Measured.
That didn't happen.
It couldn't have.
There was no one else here.
There was no—
His hand moved.
Fast.
Without instruction.
Locke froze.
He stared at it.
His fingers had clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles had gone pale.
He hadn't told it to.
He hadn't—
The fist loosened.
Just as suddenly.
Like the movement had never happened.
Like it had corrected itself.
Locke's breathing stayed even.
But his mind—
For the first time—
Didn't.
A crack.
Not visible.
Not audible.
But undeniable.
He looked down at his hand again.
Flexed it slowly.
This time, it obeyed.
Perfectly.
Like nothing was wrong.
Like everything was still his.
Locke lowered it.
Silence filled the room again.
But it felt different now.
Thicker.
Watching.
Waiting.
He stood there for a long moment.
Then—
Quietly—
Almost carefully—
He spoke.
"That wasn't me."
The words lingered.
Heavy.
Unsettling.
And for the first time—
Locke didn't know if he believed them.
Or if something inside him was waiting—
for him to stop lying.