The night air wrapped the campus in silence.
Velridge slept, or pretended to. The shadows outside stretched longer than they should've, and even the lamps flickered like they were afraid to stay awake.
Zayaan sat on the edge of the infirmary bed, alone now.
The light above him buzzed.
His hands were clenched in his lap, nails digging half-moons into his palms.
That voice — the one from the screen in 308 — still echoed in his head, bleeding over the memories he tried so hard to bury.
"He knew what he signed up for."
No. He didn't.
He never did.
That night on the roof — the blood, the smoke, the scream that never ended — it had changed everything. He thought joining Delta would erase it. That he could start over.
But Delta didn't let things go.
It just twisted them into something else.
A sound in the hallway made him flinch.
Not footsteps.
A scrape.
Like something being dragged.
He stood up.
The lights dimmed for half a second, just enough to make the shadows shift.
Then — nothing.
He grabbed his ID and left without looking back.
---
Elsewhere, in a dorm two buildings over, Arwa stared at the ceiling.
She hadn't moved in hours.
Couldn't.
Her blanket was kicked to the floor. Her desk lamp buzzed. And her eyes—dry, burning—were still wide open.
Sleep was no longer a thing that came naturally.
She could still hear the tile shift from the trial this morning. Still feel Rayyan's stare. Still taste the metallic cold in her mouth when the voice announced their "observation."
She wanted to believe it was just a weird exercise.
A mind game.
But then Hadi's scream returned — raw, trapped in her bones like a memory someone else planted there.
She finally turned over, trying to force herself to get up, to do anything other than spiral.
That's when she saw it.
A white envelope, lying on her pillow like it had been waiting.
She froze.
The door had been locked.
No one could've—
She sat up slowly, her breath shallow.
There was no name. No seal. Just a circle on the back.
Drawn in ink so dark it almost bled into the paper.
Split down the middle.
Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
Inside: a single piece of thin, black paper.
"If you wake up twice in the same place, only one of you is real."
– Observer #0
Her spine locked.
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
She flipped the paper.
A time.
A room number.
Room 308.
02:15 AM.
Her throat tightened.
She checked the clock.
01:52.
"No," she whispered. "No, not again."
But she was already standing.
Already pulling on her shoes.
Some part of her already knew—this wasn't a choice.
---
The hallway to 308 felt longer than it should've — like it was stretching with every step she took.
She passed sensor after sensor, but none of them blinked.
No green lights.
No beeps.
Just... nothing.
It was like the system had gone blind. Or worse — like it saw her, but decided not to say anything.
She glanced over her shoulder more than once. Just in case.
Then kept walking.
The silence wasn't just around her — it pressed in, soft but heavy, like cotton stuffed into her ears and mouth and chest.
Her thoughts slowed down, grew muffled. She wasn't even sure if she was scared or numb now.
All she knew was that her hand was shaking when she finally reached the door.
And that it was already open.
Inside: dark.
But the screen was on.
No sound. Just a video playing.
Arwa stepped in.
And froze.
On the screen — Zayaan.
Not from today. From... before. Long before.
He sat in the trial chair.
His hands trembled.
He was speaking to someone just outside the frame.
"Please," he said. "You said it wouldn't be me this time."
The voice that answered wasn't the usual one. Not the mechanical observer.
It was human. Tired. Almost kind.
"We all take our turn. That's how this works, Zayaan."
Arwa's heart pounded as Zayaan's head dropped forward in the video. His body folded in on itself like a crumpled paper.
He didn't fight.
Didn't speak again.
The screen cut to black.
And in the darkness of Room 308, Arwa heard it — faint, right behind her:
a breath that wasn't hers.
She turned, too slow.
The door slid shut.
Click.
---