Zara dreamed of fire.
The world was burning. Smoke poured through the halls of the dormitory, black and blinding. She ran, barefoot, down an endless corridor as a voice screamed her name.
Not Zara.
"Elara!"
She turned around.
Behind her, the mirror was cracking. Shards of glass floated in the air, suspended like raindrops caught midfall. And inside the largest shard, a face watched her.
Her own face.
But older.
Different.
Zara jerked awake with a gasp. Cain sat at the edge of her bed, holding a flashlight and looking pale.
"You said her name again."
"I had the dream again," Zara whispered.
"You were calling for help. But you weren't calling me."
They sat in silence, the faint glow of the flashlight between them.
"I think I'm becoming her," Zara whispered. "I think... the Watcher is rewriting me."
Later that day, they took the photo—the one dated 1971—and visited the university archives. Cain had tracked down a retired professor who used to teach music theory in the 60s and 70s: Professor Lawrence Veldon.
They found him at a care home off-campus. His hands trembled from age, but his mind was sharp.
"Quinn," he said, peering at Zara. "You're not Elara, are you?"
"No," she replied. "But I think I'm related."
He tapped the table. "I remember Elara. Bright girl. Had a voice like velvet. But after the fire, she was... different."
"What fire?" Cain asked.
"The fire that started in Dorm 304. The one the university covered up."
Zara leaned forward. "Covered up?"
"They said it was a candle left unattended. But it wasn't. It was... the ritual."
"What ritual?"
Veldon's eyes darkened. "The Rebirth Ceremony."
He pulled out a small folder filled with aged documents—Latin incantations, diagrams, and blood-stained notes.
"Elara believed she could rewrite fate," he said. "The Watcher wasn't just a curse—it was a door. If you knew the right codes, the right offering, it would let you pass through time. Rewrite pain. Reverse death."
"But something went wrong," Zara guessed.
"She tried it alone. And the fire came."
Cain looked visibly shaken. "What happened to her?"
"No one knows. Some say she died in the fire. Others say she walked away and was never seen again."
Zara held up the photo. "Then why does this exist? Dated two years after her disappearance."
Veldon's hands trembled. "Because she succeeded. Or someone brought her back."
That night, back in the dorm, Zara paced while Cain read through the copies of the ritual notes.
"She needed a mirror," he said. "The mirror in 304 wasn't for vanity—it was the vessel. It holds memories. Identity. Souls."
Zara looked at her reflection again. "Then why is it watching me?"
"Because it remembers her. Or it sees you as her."
Zara sat beside him. "Cain, there's something you haven't told me."
He froze.
"My mother's name was Lena Quinn. And in her diary, she mentioned someone named Micah Cross. That's your last name."
Cain looked down. "He was my uncle. He... he was the one who built the mirror."
"What?"
"He was part of the society that created the codes. He died in this room. That's why my family never talks about him."
Zara stared at him. "So you came here knowing all of this?"
He nodded slowly. "I came here to stop it. To stop what my uncle started."
The silence between them thickened. Then Zara reached out and held his hand.
"I believe you. But if you lie to me again—"
"I won't."
Their eyes met.
They kissed. Softly at first. Then desperately, like they were trying to ground each other before they vanished into someone else's memory.
But the moment shattered.
The photo burst into flames in Zara's pocket.
She screamed and pulled it out, dropping it on the desk. The fire extinguished itself, leaving behind nothing but ash and a burned message on her palm:
She is not gone.
Cain stared at her hand. "That wasn't ink. That was... carved in."
Zara's breathing hitched. "She wants to come back."
Cain stood slowly. "Or she already has."
In the final drawer of her desk, Zara found something she didn't remember putting there.
A cassette tape.
Labelled: "For Her Return."
She picked it up and held it to her ear.
The tape inside was still warm.