The seafoam hallway didn't lead to his childhood anymore.
It led to his brand.
Beyond the white door: the glowing street set from GOLDEN HOUR, reassembled with impossible speed. Warm sunset. Citrus smoke. Cobblestones. Storefronts. The exact illusion his clients paid to drown inside.
Except now it was empty.
No guests. No laughter. No cameras.
Just the set, breathing quietly like an animal waiting to be fed.
Mara stood beside Elias, rigid. "How is the house rebuilding itself?"
Elias's mind raced through system architecture. Remote render. Backup projector. Emergency mode.
None of it explained the smell.
Because the smell didn't come from vents anymore.
It came from the air.
The younger Elias stepped through the doorway behind them with the calm of someone walking into his own home.
"Don't follow it," Mara whispered to Elias.
Elias didn't look at her. "If I don't, it keeps escalating."
Mara's laugh was sharp and humorless. "It's already escalating. It locked us in a memory hallway and made you confess to being a monster."
"I'm not a monster," Elias said.
The younger Elias glanced at him. "Prove it."
They walked.
The set's streetlights flickered in a pattern Elias recognized: two quick pulses, then steady.
Mara's phone buzzed. She checked it and her face drained. "Outside security is trapped. They're saying the exits won't open. Clients are recording. Someone's bleeding."
Elias's throat tightened. "Where?"
Mara stared at the screen. "Gallery. Someone got slammed into the door when it locked."
Elias looked up. The gallery storefront in the set had shifted. It wasn't where it had been earlier.
It was closer.
The house was moving pieces.
Rearranging.
Like a mind rearranging a story to make the ending inevitable.
The younger Elias's voice softened. "You want high stakes, right? This is what you built for."
Mara snapped at it. "Shut up."
It didn't blink.
They reached the gallery door. Elias pressed his hand to it.
It was cold.
Too cold.
On the other side, muffled voices. Panicked. Angry.
"Open the damn door!" someone shouted.
A fist pounded.
The pounding stopped abruptly.
A wet sound followed, like someone sliding down a surface.
Mara's eyes widened. "Oh my God."
Elias's pulse spiked. He tried the handle.
Locked.
Mara slammed her shoulder into it. Pain flashed across her face. "Elias, do something."
Elias scanned the frame, found the hidden manual release he'd designed, pressed it.
Nothing.
The younger Elias watched with mild interest.
"You forgot one thing," it said.
Elias turned. "What?"
The younger version stepped closer. Its gaze flicked to Mara. "He always builds a fail-safe."
Mara's jaw clenched. "Yes. He does."
The younger Elias looked at Elias again. "But he never gives anyone else the code."
Elias's mouth went dry.
Mara's eyes narrowed. "Elias."
Elias didn't answer.
Because across the street set, a storefront sign changed mid-glow.
Letters reshaped.
From GALLERY to:
CONFESSION.
The door beneath it opened by itself.
And inside was a room Elias did not remember building.
A room lit like an interrogation.
Chair. Table. One hanging bulb.
And on the table: a file folder.
With his handwriting on it.
Mara's voice shook. "That's not possible."
The younger Elias smiled. "Open it."
Elias stepped inside.
The air in the room tasted metallic.
The folder sat there like it had always been waiting.
He opened it.
On top: a photo.
A woman's face, partially blurred.
But Elias recognized the eyes.
He had seen them once, years ago, through a one-way mirror in a testing room he never admitted existed.
Mara leaned over his shoulder, whispering. "Who is that?"
Elias's hands went cold.
A second page slid out of the folder by itself, as if the system wanted to make sure he read the right line.
SUBJECT TWO: ELIAS VALE'S LIABILITY.
Then, a new message buzzed onto Mara's tablet.
PAYMENT RECEIVED. EXPERIENCE BEGINS NOW.
Outside, the gallery door shook again.
A scream hit the set, muffled, then cut off as if someone had pressed pause on a life.
Elias looked up, and the golden sunset shifted.
Not warmer.
Sharper.
Like it was aiming.