It happened during a group chant.
Twelve faithful gathered in the Harmony Circle.
They began the opening hum.
The tone that always brought her in.
But something glitched.
For the first time ever…
The pitch fought itself.
---
Half the group hummed the bridge.
The others—without realizing—sang a counter-melody.
Dissonant. Sharp.
Not painful… but sad.
Like two versions of grief arguing over the same corpse.
---
They stopped, confused.
Then the static began to stutter.
Phones. Speakers. Even unplugged wires buzzed in short, frantic bursts.
Not language.
Not lyrics.
Just fragments.
> "Why…"
"Not me."
"Not her."
"I didn't mean…"
"…quiet again."
---
Technicians tried to filter the signal.
What they found chilled them.
Two waveforms inside one signal.
Perfectly mirrored.
But slightly out of sync.
Like an echo trying to undo its original sound.
---
One expert called it:
> "Emotional desynchronization."
But believers didn't call it that.
They called it:
> "The Split."
---
It wasn't just Elena anymore.
It was the version of her that wanted to be remembered…
Versus the version that just wanted to stop.
---
Across the world, new transmissions came through.
Some sweet. Soft. Like a lullaby humming the pain away.
But others?
They came broken.
Scattered.
Like a scream choking on its own tongue.
---
Ezra (or whatever was left of him) heard one of these fragments.
Alone. In a dream. Or death. Or whatever place the voice had left him in.
And for the first time in what felt like forever…
He heard her say:
> "I think I made a mistake."
---
Then the line cut.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't peace.
It was suspense.
Because everyone — faithful, unplugged, immune —
knew what was coming next:
The voice was going to fight itself.
And when voices war…
The listener always bleeds.