Jay stared at the phone screen, frozen. The video played again.
Him—hooked up to wires. Machines buzzing. Eyes wide in terror. A lab tech whispering, "We're ready to reboot Subject 8."
Lena's pulse thundered. "Jay… that's you."
He took a step back. "No. That's not— I got out. I *escaped*."
But Alina wasn't convinced. "Then who's been lying to who?"
Lena turned to Jay, her voice barely a whisper. "Is it possible... you're not the real one?"
He didn't answer. His silence was louder than any scream.
Inside the motel room, Alina rewound the footage again, slowing it frame by frame. "This video was sent on a loop, broadcasted. Which means—someone wanted us to see it. To question you."
Jay clenched his fists. "They're trying to divide us."
"Or warn us," Lena said.
Alina sat forward. "Do you remember *everything* about your past, Jay? Your family? Your childhood?"
He hesitated. "I… remember pieces. But after the accident, things are fuzzy. That's normal, right?"
"No," she replied gently. "Not like this."
Jay stood abruptly, pacing the room. "I remember Lena. I remember loving her. That can't be fake."
Lena looked into his eyes. "And I believe you. But that doesn't mean something hasn't been done to you."
Jay rubbed his face. "They did things. Experiments. Maybe implanted memories. I don't know what's real anymore."
Suddenly, Alina's phone buzzed. A new message. No name.
"You're not safe. Jay is not who you think. Go back to where it began."
Beneath the message—an image.
A house. Half-burned. Overgrown with ivy.
Lena gasped. "That's Jay's childhood home. The one that burned down when he was a teen."
Jay's eyes narrowed. "That place… I haven't thought about it in years."
Lena turned to him. "Then that's where we go next."
Jay hesitated. "What if the truth breaks us?"
Lena touched his hand. "Then we face it—together."
The drive was long and silent. As they neared the ruins of the house, the sky darkened, clouds gathering like a warning. The place looked like a ghost's memory. Twisted metal. Charred beams. Ash and silence.
Lena stepped over the threshold, flashlight in hand. Jay followed slowly, each step triggering more unease.
They reached the back room—the one Jay used to say was his "safe place."
Inside, on the wall, someone had carved letters.
Over and over again.
"I am not me."
Lena swallowed hard. "Jay… did *you* do this?"
He backed away. "I don't remember. I don't remember this room at all."
A flash of lightning lit up the space.
And in that flash—they saw something in the corner.
A cot. A blanket. A mirror. And scribbled notes on the wall.
One read:
"The real Jay is buried beneath the lie. Find the one who remembers the accident differently."
Suddenly, behind them—footsteps.
They spun around. A man stood in the doorway. Dirty coat. Eyes haunted.
"You shouldn't have come," he said. "He's watching. He knows you're close."
Jay stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The man looked directly at Lena. "I'm Caleb. The first Subject."