The scrape wasn't loud.
But in the silence, it cut through him like a whisper you're not supposed to hear.
Zayaan didn't turn immediately.
He didn't move.
His fingers hovered just above the trackpad, frozen mid-thought.
A dull heat built in his chest — not panic exactly, but that strange, crawling weight that came when something felt off before it made sense.
His pulse pounded in his neck now, too loud, too present — like his own body was trying to warn him before his mind caught up.
That wasn't the wind.
He turned his head slowly, muscles stiff from the quiet tension now clawing its way up his spine.
The lab behind him was empty.
The chair — one of the older swivel types, the kind they hadn't used in years — now sat a foot further from the desk it belonged to. Tilted, slightly, like someone had just stood up.
But no one had.
He scanned the corners. No motion. No breathing. No signs of heat shimmer, even.
Just that chair.
Still.
Wrong.
He turned back to the terminal and pressed Enter.
The transcription loaded.
---
Observer 0, 03:17:29 AM
"Subject 02 remains responsive. EEG irregularities have plateaued. But… language processing shows contamination. Dreams repeat symbols that weren't introduced by the trial stimuli."
A Pause.
"She speaks in loops now. Not visibly. But something behind her eyes... it mirrors."
Pause. Longer.
"Zayaan, if you're reading this—leave it. Whatever you think you owe her, you can't fix it. You already made your choice the night they took Subject 01."
Zayaan stepped back from the screen like it had burned him.
"Subject 01…"
He hadn't heard that term in years.
Not since the incident on the roof. Not since Mira.
He backed toward the wall, bracing himself against it, chest rising too fast.
The lab was too quiet again.
Like it was listening.
And then the lights blinked — just once, just long enough to distort the reflection on the dark monitor in front of him.
He saw himself.
And someone standing behind him.
But when he turned, again—
Nothing.
No one.
Just the chair, slightly turned now. Facing him.
And on the screen, a new line appeared without him typing.
---
"Staring into the dark won't make it speak. But it remembers who watched."
---
Zayaan didn't know how his legs were moving, but they were.
Out the lab.
Down the corridor.
He didn't stop until he was back on the lit side of campus, where the cameras still blinked and the air felt solid.
He sat outside the mess hall, shaking.
He thought of Arwa.
He thought of the envelope. The video.
The way her eyes didn't blink fast enough anymore.
She was in there. But so was something else.