Mira barely slept.
Her mind replayed the sound of shattering glass, the strange voice message, and the name spoken like a curse—Lena.
She kept turning over in bed, unable to get comfortable. Every creak of the floorboards, every shadow from the window made her heart jump. When she closed her eyes, she saw her own face looking back at her in mirrors, whispering things she couldn't quite hear.
By the time morning came, her thoughts felt fogged, like they'd been dipped in cold syrup.
Still, she dressed and went to work early, the letter folded and hidden inside her coat pocket, as if proximity gave her some measure of control.
The Central Records Bureau looked no different. Men in suits filed past metal detectors, murmuring into headsets. The front lobby bustled with paper-pushers and data analysts. But Mira's skin crawled as if she were being watched by something just out of sight.
She took the stairs to her office. She didn't trust the elevator—not after the warning.
Her office was a small, enclosed space on the second floor with reinforced glass walls and metal filing cabinets that lined one side like silent sentries. Her desk sat in the corner under a dim overhead light, and today, it felt more like a cage than a workspace.
As she dropped her bag, she noticed it immediately.
Another envelope.
It sat beneath her keyboard. Same off-white paper. Same unmistakable cursive.
Her breath caught.
Hands trembling, she opened it.
"You must not let her near the elevator. 3:17 PM."
She stared at the message, brain stalling like a skipping record.
Lena.
---
Mira kept a close eye on the hallway all morning. She tried to bury herself in document scanning and file verification, but her focus kept breaking. Every creak in the corridor made her flinch. Every shift in light pulled her eyes toward the glass.
Lena wasn't in yet. Her desk—three cubicles down—remained empty. No pink folders, no laptop bag, no half-drunk coffee. Just a chair, askew.
"Where's Lena today?" Mira asked a passing coworker.
He shrugged. "Called in sick, I think."
Called in sick?
Was this the reason for the warning?
Was something going to happen even if Lena never showed up?
Mira tried not to think about it, but her fingers kept curling into fists beneath the desk.
The clock ticked slowly. 11:34. 12:08. 1:45.
The envelope stayed in her coat pocket. Heavy. It felt like a ticking bomb.
---
At 3:00 PM, Mira stood.
She moved to the glass wall of her office and stared at the elevator. It looked perfectly ordinary, its stainless-steel doors polished to a mirror shine.
She watched.
Nothing happened.
Then, at 3:14 PM, she heard a familiar voice.
"Mira!"
She turned.
Lena Monroe stood at the end of the hall, waving. Her curly dark hair was pulled back, and she clutched a manila folder to her chest.
Mira's heart stuttered.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, stepping out of her office.
"Fenton called," Lena said, a bit breathless. "Needed the files from my backup drive. Thought I'd be in and out."
She smiled, and Mira suddenly saw the face of someone who didn't know danger was a breath away.
3:15.
Lena turned toward the elevator.
"No—wait," Mira said, louder than intended. "Don't get in."
Lena blinked. "What?"
"Don't take the elevator." Mira stepped forward quickly. "Just… please trust me."
Lena's brows furrowed, but she nodded. "Okay. Jeez, Mira. You okay?"
3:16.
Mira didn't answer. Her eyes were locked on the elevator.
Then, right at 3:17 PM, the elevator made a sound Mira would never forget.
A low metallic screech—long, agonizing—followed by a snap that echoed through the hall like a bone breaking.
The doors jerked. Then slammed shut violently.
A thunderous clatter followed from within the shaft.
Screams.
A technician down the hall ran over.
"System failure," he shouted into a walkie-talkie. "Repeat—elevator five just crashed. All call emergency maintenance now!"
Mira could only stare, her blood cold.
---
Later, she and Lena sat together in the emergency response lounge. The Bureau staff buzzed with concern. No one had been inside the elevator when it failed. A miracle, they said.
But Mira knew better.
Lena wrapped her arms around herself. Her voice was quiet. "I would've been in that."
"You weren't," Mira replied.
"Because of you."
Mira didn't answer. She reached into her pocket and handed Lena the note.
Lena read it once. Then again.
Her face paled. "Mira… what the hell is this?"
"The second letter," Mira said. "I got the first one yesterday. It said the glass would break at 8:15."
Lena shook her head. "Okay, I know you're not joking, but this is—this is too much."
"I didn't write them. But I think they're from me."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I know," Mira whispered. "But they're in my handwriting. And they keep being right."
Lena stared at her like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. "This isn't a coincidence."
"No. It's not."
"Someone's watching you."
Mira nodded.
"Maybe it's you," Lena said suddenly. "Like… another version. I mean, don't people talk about alternate selves? Reflections that think on their own?"
Mira's skin crawled.
She thought about the mirror the night before.
About the voicemail that used her voice.
About the way her own reflection smiled before she did.
A tremor passed through her.
"Whatever this is," Lena said softly, "you're not alone. I'll help you figure this out."
Mira nodded, but her mind was far away.
Because if the letters were from her…
Then what part of her wanted Lena dead?
-----
End of Chapter 2