The morning smelled like jasmine and lies.
Sunlight streamed through curtains I didn't recognize, painting golden stripes across a bedroom that wasn't mine. The sheets were too soft, the air too still. No gun under my pillow. No knives taped to the bedframe. Just the distant sizzle of bacon and Anya's off-key humming drifting down the hall.
I pressed my palms to my temples. The System was gone—not silent, not dormant—gone, like it had never existed.
The bathroom mirror showed a stranger. No scars. No shadows. Just some ordinary man with sleep-creased cheeks and terror in his eyes.
A child's laughter bubbled up from the kitchen.
I pulled on the robe hanging by the door—my size, my favorite color—and followed the sound.
---
Anya stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with one hand while ruffling the hair of a boy perched on the counter. He was maybe twelve, with grass-stained knees and a missing front tooth, swinging his legs like any normal kid.
Until he saw me.
His grin widened. Too wide.
"Morning, Dad!"
The voice was all wrong. Not a child's pitch, but something layered—a chorus of every tone the heir had ever used.
Anya turned, her smile radiant. "Chen! You're up late." She kissed my cheek. Her lips were warm. Her breath smelled like mint and something metallic. "Sit down. I made your favorite."
The table was set for three.
---
The First Lie:
"Mrs. Lin says I can redo my math test if I practice all weekend," the boy said through a mouthful of syrup.
Anya nodded. "We'll go over fractions tonight."
I stared at my plate. The pancakes were perfect. Golden brown. Drizzled with honey. The way my mother used to make them.
"Since when does he have a Mrs. Lin?" I asked quietly.
Anya froze. The boy's knife screeched against his plate.
"Since always," he said, kicking his feet. "You're so weird in the mornings."
The clock on the wall ticked. 9:46.
9:47.
The second hand stuck.
---
The Basement:
I found it behind a door that shouldn't have existed—a narrow staircase leading down into darkness. The air smelled like damp concrete and ozone.
The flashlight on my phone illuminated nine chairs arranged in a circle. Each held an object:
1. A champagne flute with lipstick smudges
2. A bloodstained ledger page
3. A tiny silver key
4. A wedding ring (mine, from the real timeline)
5. A dried jasmine flower
6. A scalpel
7. A child's tooth
8. A bullet
9. An empty space
The walls were covered in writing. Not scrawled—etched, like someone had carved the words over decades:
HE WATCHES THROUGH THE CHILD'S EYES
THE KEY OPENS NOTHING
YOUR WIFE ISN'T YOURS
Footsteps creaked above me.
"Dad?" The boy's voice echoed down the stairs. "Mom says come up. It's time for my medicine."
---
The Medicine Cabinet:
The bathroom shelf held three orange bottles:
1. Chen - Take with food (For memory retention)
2. Anya - At bedtime (For night terrors)
3. Li - Twice daily (For behavioral regulation)
The boy—Li—grinned as I read the label. "I don't like the taste," he confided. "It's like pennies."
Anya handed him a blue pill and a juice box. "Swallow."
I grabbed her wrist. "What are we giving him?"
Her pupils dilated. Just for a second. Then—
"Chen." She laughed, squeezing my hand. "It's just vitamins. You've been working too hard."
Li gagged dramatically. "See? Even Dad thinks it's poison!"
The pill dissolved in his mouth.
His golden eyes flashed.
---
The Neighbor's Visit:
The doorbell rang at exactly noon.
Mrs. Lin from across the street bustled in with a casserole dish. "For the new family!" she trilled.
Except—
Her shoes were spotless despite the rain.
Her perfume was Mu's signature scent.
And when she hugged Li, her fingers lengthened for just a second, curling around his shoulder like spider legs.
"Such a good boy," she crooned.
Li whispered something in her ear.
She looked at me and smiled.
---
The Revelation:
I woke screaming at 3 AM to an empty bed.
The house was too quiet. No snoring. No rustling sheets. Just the hum of the refrigerator and—
Click. Click. Click.
Li sat at the kitchen table, stacking the nine objects from the basement into a pyramid. His golden eyes reflected the moonlight.
"You figured it out, didn't you?" He didn't turn around. "This isn't a loop. It's a cage."
The basement door stood open behind him.
The ninth chair now held an item:
My wedding ring.
"Mom's waiting downstairs," he said. "She wants to show you real family time."
Then the lights went out.
---
A match flared in the darkness.
Anya stood at the base of the stairs, her face half-lit by the flame. She wasn't smiling.
Behind her, the nine chairs burned with blue fire.
"Come see, Chen," she called up. Her voice was wrong—deeper, layered with the heir's tones. "We've prepared a *special* breakfast."
The flames caught the writing on the walls, making the words dance:
*YOUR WIFE ISN'T YOURS*
*YOUR WIFE ISN'T YOURS*
*YOUR WIFE ISN'T YOURS*
Li's small, cold hand slipped into mine.
"Don't be scared," he lied. "We're all family here."
And from the burning basement, something began to climb.