The knock came at 3:17 a.m.
Lyra knew the time without checking.Some moments branded themselves into you like scars.
Three knocks.Not loud.Not urgent.
Precise.
The stranger stiffened. "No one should be able to find you right now."
Lyra didn't move. Every nerve in her body had gone still, like the city was holding its breath with her.
"Someone didn't find me," she said slowly."They remembered me."
Another knock.
The air bent—just slightly—like heat over asphalt. The lights flickered, then froze mid-flicker, caught between on and off.
Time stuttered.
Lyra swallowed. "That's not possible."
The knock came again.
Closer.
From inside her chest.
She stepped forward before fear could veto the decision. When she opened the door, the hallway beyond didn't exist anymore.
Instead—
She stood face to face with herself.
Not a reflection.Not a mirror trick.
Older. Sharper. Tired in a way that came from surviving too much. A faint scar cut through her eyebrow—one Lyra didn't have yet.
The future Lyra's eyes widened.
"Oh," she breathed. "It worked."
The stranger stumbled back. "Lyra—?"
But she wasn't listening.
She was staring at the person she would become.
"You don't have much time," the older Lyra said quickly. Her voice shook—not with fear, but urgency. "Listen to me. When the city offers you the—"
The world cracked.
The walls groaned. The symbols flared wild. Time began snapping back into place like an angry elastic band.
"—don't open it," future Lyra rushed, words colliding. "You have to glitch the—"
Her body flickered, edges dissolving into light and shadow.
Lyra lunged forward. "Wait—glitch what? What does that mean?!"
The older Lyra smiled.
Soft. Sad. Proud.
"The rule," she said.Half a line.Barely there.
"Break the rule about—"
She vanished.
The door slammed shut on its own.
Silence roared back into existence.
The clock on the wall ticked forward, finally landing on 3:18 a.m.
Lyra stood frozen, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
The stranger whispered, "That was… you."
Lyra nodded slowly.
The lesson settled like ice in her veins:
The knock wasn't a warning.It was a reminder.
She wasn't just a door.
She was a loop.
A paradox with a pulse.
Somewhere in the future, she had learned something so dangerous that time itself had tried to stop her from saying it.
And she had tried anyway.
Lyra looked at her shaking hands—and smiled.
"Good," she said quietly.
Because now she knew two terrifying things:
One—time could be bent.Two—she was the kind of person who would risk breaking it.
Outside, the city resumed its noise.
But somewhere beyond now,someone was already knocking again.