Lena's heart pounded as she gripped her phone. The image was still on the screen—her sleeping face, captured from inside her apartment. Someone had been in her home. Watching her. Recording her.
She bolted from the couch, locking every window and door for the third time that night. Then she slid down to the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.
Her mind raced. Could it be Jay? No—Jay would never scare her like this. Would he?
She hesitated before calling the police. What would she even say? "Hi, my dead boyfriend might be alive, and someone sent me a video of myself sleeping"? They'd think she was losing it.
And maybe she was.
She forced herself to breathe.
Think, Lena. Think.
The messages. The rose. The café photo. The video. Whoever was doing this—they were leaving clues. Or warnings.
She stood up and pulled open her laptop again. The folder titled "The Vanishing" was growing fuller by the hour. She added the new screenshot, labeling it "Video_InsideRoom", then opened a map of the city.
There was one place she hadn't dared go since Jay's accident: his old studio apartment. It had been sealed by the landlord, but maybe now… maybe it held answers.
By morning, Lena had made her decision.
She arrived at Jay's apartment building with a backpack and a half-baked story about retrieving belongings for "her brother." The landlord wasn't home. Luck was on her side.
She knew where the spare key was hidden—Jay once joked he kept it behind the "ugliest potted plant in town." Sure enough, the cactus was still there.
She opened the door.
Dust motes floated through the air, dancing in a shaft of light from the window. The room was frozen in time. His jacket still hung on the back of a chair. An open book lay face-down on the couch. She picked it up—The Time Machine by H.G. Wells.
Fitting.
Her eyes scanned the room. Everything looked the same, except for one thing.
The wall behind the bookshelf was covered now.
Photos. Maps. Notes. Connected by red string.
Her name was written in bold letters in the center.
She stepped closer.
At the top was a photo of Jay in military uniform. Beside it, a note: "Memory experiments. Results unstable."
Another string led to a blurry hospital image. The word "Lucid Tests?" was scribbled across it. She saw her own name connected to a photo of the café again, only this time it said: "Why does she remember?"
Lena's skin prickled.
Jay hadn't just disappeared.
He had been watching her. Studying her.
But why?
Her hand trembled as she reached for a final note pinned lower than the others. It was a postcard. On the back, in Jay's handwriting:
"If you're reading this, I broke the rules."
Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the hallway outside.
She turned off the lights and ducked behind the bookshelf.
The front door creaked.
A shadow entered the room.
Her breath caught.
The figure stepped closer—then paused, scanning the room. He reached out to touch the photos on the wall.
Then he spoke. Just one word.
"Lena."
It was his voice.
Jay's.
She wanted to scream. To cry. To run to him.
But something in her froze.
Because the Jay standing in front of her wasn't quite the Jay she remembered.
His voice… sounded like it had forgotten how to be human.