Elena wandered through the compound, uncertain how long it had been since her return. Her watch spun erratically, ticking backward now. The snow outside had turned grey. The sun had not risen in days—or perhaps it had, and she had missed it.
She found signs of life. A half-eaten ration pack. A boot print. But no people. The compound hummed softly, as if alive.
In the command center, the radio crackled.
"Extraction team en route. Repeat, extraction ETA twenty minutes."
She stared at the mic, unsure whether to answer.
If she was the real Elena, then the rescue mattered.
If she wasn't…
The reflection's final whisper echoed: You will never be sure which one returned.
*
She waited at the helipad.
The wind howled. Ice lashed her face. She held a flare, unlit, in trembling fingers.
A sound in the sky—rotors.
A black helicopter descended, light sweeping across the ruined compound. A voice crackled from its open door.
"Elena! Hold position!"
Two men in hazmat suits jumped down, rifles slung. One approached with cautious steps.
"What happened to your team?"
"They're gone," she said. "Everyone's gone."
"Do you have any contamination?"
She didn't answer.
They brought her aboard. Sealed her in a glass quarantine cell. As the helicopter lifted off, she watched the facility vanish beneath swirling snow.
She felt the weight of the mirror's residue pressing inside her skin.
In the seat opposite her, a technician watched through the glass, eyes narrowed.
"What's your name?" he asked through a speaker.
"Elena."
He frowned.
"We received an earlier transmission," he said slowly. "Said you were confirmed KIA three days ago."
Her pulse spiked.
"I survived."
"Funny," he said, "because we already extracted an 'Elena' yesterday. She didn't make it off the base."
The technician's hand moved toward a red button marked Emergency Containment.
Elena's reflection appeared in the glass of her cell.
It was smiling.