By the time Mira reached the street, the signal had changed. Cars moved. The man was gone.
She stood there longer than necessary, earning irritated looks from passersby, until the city resumed its rhythm around her. Only then did she step back onto the sidewalk.
Her phone buzzed again.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:Rule one: I can't stay where you're looking.
Mira's breath came shallow now, controlled by habit more than calm.
MIRA: This isn't funny.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:I know. That's rule two.
She walked. Movement helped her think. She turned corners without deciding to, trusting the city to carry her somewhere familiar.
MIRA: You were in my office.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:Yes.
MIRA: You asked me a question.
Several seconds passed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:I ask it everywhere.
She stopped near the river. The bridge from her dream rose ahead, steel ribs cutting into the gray sky.
MIRA: Why can't I remember you?
The reply came instantly.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:Because remembering me would make me real.
Her reflection wavered in the dark water below. For a moment, she imagined stepping forward and not leaving a ripple.
MIRA: And you're not?
This time, the delay was longer.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:Not yet.
A memory surfaced uninvited—her training supervisor, years ago, explaining dissociative coping mechanisms. The mind, she had said, protects itself by editing reality.
Mira typed with deliberate calm.
MIRA: You think I invented you.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:I think you finished me.
She felt the ground tilt, just slightly.