00:52:44
The red light above the door dimmed, pulsing faintly like something alive.
Isla gripped the recorder tighter. Its weight felt wrong, too warm, too human. Mason was staring at the timer on his wrist, the numbers pulsing in rhythm with the hum vibrating through the padded floor.
"Why do they sound like us?" she asked. Mason didn't answer right away. "Because they were us," he said finally. "Or still are. Depends on how long you've been awake."
The room's hum deepened. From somewhere inside the padding came a wet, rhythmic sound. Like slow breathing.
"Mason…" He nodded toward the far wall. "Don't look. It gets stronger when you look."
Too late. Isla's gaze locked on the wall as the shape beneath the padding began to shift, something pressing from the other side, fingertips straining against the fabric. Then another hand. And another.
"Back away," Mason said. But her feet wouldn't move. The hands were her size. The curve of the palm, the slender fingers, perfect matches. Then the recorder crackled.
"Synchronization incomplete," said the distorted female voice. "Prepare for mirror reinstatement."
A seam split down the center of the wall. Fabric peeled back, revealing not one but two mirrors facing each other. Their surfaces shimmered like water under glass. Isla stepped closer despite herself. Her reflection blinked, but the other mirror, behind it, showed something different: Mason standing behind her, pipe raised, eyes black. She spun around. The real Mason hadn't moved.
"Do you see that?" she whispered.
He didn't respond. His pupils had dilated to perfect black circles. The hum rose to a shriek. Isla dropped the recorder, clamping her hands over her ears. The lights flared white, then cut out entirely. In the darkness, she heard the mirrors crack once, twice, and then a sound like a hundred voices exhaling at once. The hum stopped. The lights returned. Mason was gone. Only the mirrors remained, each one reflecting Isla, standing alone. Except one reflection blinked out of sync. And smiled.