The red light inside the quarantine chamber blinked once, then twice.
Elena didn't move. She stared at the technician through the glass, every instinct screaming to stay perfectly still.
His hand hovered over the emergency button.
"Tell me something only Elena would know," he said.
"I don't know what you've been told," she said calmly. "But I was the only one who came back through that mirror."
"That's not an answer."
She hesitated. "When I was ten, I broke my collarbone falling from a swing. My father blamed the wind. My mother said I was always chasing things I couldn't catch."
He paused.
"That was on your medical file," he said. "The other Elena said the same thing."
Elena leaned forward, her breath fogging the glass. "Then I'm not the one who lied."
The red light flickered again—then turned green.
The technician lowered his hand.
"We'll run full psychometric scans when we reach the base," he said. "Until then... just rest."
She nodded slowly.
But her reflection remained.
Even when she turned away.
Even when she closed her eyes.
_ _
They flew for six hours.
Snow gave way to the black ocean. Elena watched the waves below and tried to ignore the faint sound—like breathing—coming from the walls.
The technician returned with a scanner. He pressed it to the glass. Data streamed across the interface, his brow furrowed.
"There's something odd in your EEG signature," he muttered.
"What kind of odd?"
He didn't answer.
Suddenly, alarms blared.
"Reflection breach—containment compromised!"
Elena looked around in panic.
The reflection in the glass had vanished.
A scream erupted from the cockpit.
The technician turned to run—but the mirror surface of his tablet shimmered.
A hand reached out of it.
Pulled him inside.
_ _ _
The helicopter spiraled.
Elena braced as metal shrieked. Black smoke poured from the engines.
Impact. Cold water. Darkness.
*
She awoke on a beach.
Waves lapped at her boots. The sky was overcast. In the distance—buildings. A facility she didn't recognize.
She rose to her feet.
Something inside her jacket shifted.
The journal.
She hadn't packed it. She was sure.
The pages were no longer blank.
One sentence had appeared, scrawled in ink:
"There is no mirror. Only doors."
Elena looked toward the facility.
And walked forward.