Mira woke up to silence.
The kind of silence that felt too heavy, like the world had paused for a moment just to listen.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Her apartment was dark, curtains drawn, rain still tapping against the windows like fingers drumming an impatient rhythm.
She reached for her phone.
6:47 a.m.
Too early.
But something was off.
She got up, wrapped herself in a robe, and walked into the living area.
Evelyn was gone.
Her coat, her bag — everything she'd brought with her last night — was missing.
Only one thing remained.
A single piece of paper on the kitchen counter.
> "Don't go to St. Vincent's alone."
Mira stared at it.
Then she turned toward the door.
It was slightly ajar.
Not fully open. Just enough.
Someone had left in a hurry.
Or someone had come in.
She locked the door carefully, heart thudding.
St. Vincent's Psychiatric Hospital.
The coordinates Daniel found. Evelyn's warning.
Mira knew what she had to do.
Even if Evelyn didn't want her to.
---
### 🚗
By 8:15 a.m., Mira was behind the wheel, heading east out of Portland.
The sky was overcast, clouds low and thick like they were holding their breath.
She drove without music, without conversation, only the sound of the wipers sweeping back and forth across the windshield.
Daniel had sent her the full map file before bed.
St. Vincent's was located in a remote section of the city, past the industrial zone and into a stretch of land where old buildings stood like forgotten ghosts.
The hospital had been shut down nearly fifteen years ago after a string of patient deaths and staff disappearances.
No official explanation.
Just rumors.
Whispers of unethical experiments.
Of patients who never truly left.
And now, somehow, it was connected to her.
To *ChronoSync*.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter.
This wasn't just about Carly Voss anymore.
Or Lena Mercer.
Or Jonah's sister.
It was about her.
About what happened to her.
About what she might have done.
---
### 🏚️
The hospital loomed ahead like a carcass.
Its windows were shattered or boarded up. Ivy crawled along the brick walls like veins trying to keep a dead body alive.
Mira parked a few hundred feet away, engine off, listening to the quiet.
Birds chirped somewhere unseen.
Wind rustled through the trees.
She stepped out.
The air smelled damp and metallic.
She pulled her coat tighter around her and started walking.
There was no sign of life.
No cars. No footprints.
Just the hospital, waiting.
---
### 🔍
She entered through the side entrance — a rusted metal door that groaned as she pushed it open.
Inside, the air was colder.
Thicker.
Dust floated in the slivers of light coming through broken windows.
She pulled out her flashlight, switched it on.
The beam cut through the darkness, revealing hallways lined with faded charts, abandoned gurneys, and rooms filled with rusted equipment.
She moved carefully, silently.
Every step echoed.
Every breath sounded too loud.
She passed a reception desk covered in layers of dust. A nameplate still sat there:
> *Dr. Evelyn Hart – Senior Therapist*
Mira stopped.
Evelyn worked here?
She remembered her as a therapist from a private clinic.
Not from this place.
Not from *this* hospital.
She swallowed hard.
More questions.
Fewer answers.
She kept moving.
---
### 📁
The files room was locked.
But not well.
A kick loosened the hinges enough for her to push it open.
Inside, rows of cabinets stretched into the dim light.
She searched for labels.
Most were outdated patient records.
Names she didn't recognize.
Until she found one marked:
> *ChronoSync – Subject 014*
Her.
She pulled it open.
Inside were stacks of papers, notes scrawled in Evelyn's handwriting.
She flipped through them.
Sessions.
Dates.
Neural scans.
Memory mapping logs.
One page caught her eye.
> **Subject 014 shows signs of temporal dissonance. Memory recall includes events not yet experienced. Recommend memory lock protocol. Immediate action required.**
Mira's hands trembled.
Temporal dissonance.
Future memories.
They weren't hallucinations.
They were real.
She kept reading.
Then she saw it.
Another note.
Typed.
Not handwritten.
> **Project ChronoSync suspended indefinitely. All data classified. Any unauthorized access will be prosecuted under federal law.**
Signed at the bottom:
> *Director: Jonah Rourke*
Mira froze.
Jonah?
His name was on this?
He was involved?
She stumbled back, heart racing.
Footsteps echoed outside the room.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Someone else was here.
She quickly shoved the folder back into the cabinet and turned off her flashlight.
Silence.
Then—
A voice.
Low. Familiar.
"Mira?"
Jonah.
She peeked through the cracked door.
He stood in the hallway, scanning the room with his flashlight.
She ducked back inside.
What was he doing here?
Why was his name on the ChronoSync file?
Was he helping her…
Or watching her?
---
### 👀
Mira slipped out the back exit of the files room, careful not to make a sound.
She moved down another corridor, deeper into the building.
The further she went, the more the atmosphere changed.
Cold.
Still.
Like the hospital itself was breathing.
She reached a stairwell.
Opened the door.
Something was carved into the wall beside it.
In deep, jagged letters.
> **"THE RED DOOR IS OPENING."**
Mira's breath caught.
She looked around.
No one.
She climbed the stairs slowly.
Reached the second floor.
The layout was different here.
Less clinical.
More personal.
She walked past a row of small rooms — former therapy chambers.
One door was open.
She stepped inside.
The room was empty except for one thing.
A mirror.
Large. Floor-to-ceiling.
Cracked.
And in front of it, a chair.
She approached cautiously.
Sat down.
Looked at her reflection.
Then blinked.
Her eyes changed.
For a split second, they weren't hers.
They were older.
Tired.
Haunted.
And then they snapped back.
Mira gasped.
She reached out, touched the glass.
Nothing.
But the feeling lingered.
She wasn't alone.
Not in here.
Not in her own mind.
---
### 🔥
She heard movement downstairs.
Voices now.
Two people.
One she recognized.
Jonah.
The other…
She couldn't place it.
She crept toward the edge of the hallway, peered down.
Jonah was talking to someone.
A man.
Tall.
Dark jacket.
Sunglasses.
The same man who had watched her at the crime scene.
The same man who had signaled her before disappearing.
Now, he was here.
With Jonah.
She strained to hear.
"…she can't remember," the man said.
"She's close," Jonah replied.
"You know what happens if she does."
Jonah hesitated.
"I'm trying to protect her."
The man stepped closer.
"She's not the only one who remembers."
Mira's breath caught.
What did that mean?
She backed away quietly.
Had to get out.
Had to find answers.
But first—
She needed to survive.
Mira barely escapes the hospital, but not before grabbing a final clue: a flash drive hidden beneath the chair in the mirrored room. When she plugs it in later, she finds footage of herself — speaking to scientists, describing future events, and begging someone to stop the experiment.
One scientist responds.
A woman with Evelyn's face.
But it's not Evelyn.
It's someone else.
Someone who looks exactly like her.
And she says:
> "Welcome back, Subject 014."