The sky hung low and colorless when Grace and Ethan drove past the city's last streetlight. Beyond that, Hollow Street was a different world — the kind of place where forgotten things stayed forgotten. The car's tires crunched over gravel, scattering dust like ghosts fleeing their return.
"This is it?" Grace asked, her voice a mixture of disbelief and dread.
Ethan nodded, slowing to a stop in front of a sagging iron gate. A faded sign hung crookedly, its letters almost gone: Haven Behavioral Institute.
The building itself loomed like a memory refusing to die — tall, gray, with windows boarded shut and vines crawling up its spine. Every gust of wind made the loose boards groan as if the place could still breathe.
Grace's heart hammered. "I know this place."
Ethan turned to her, studying her pale face. "You've been here before, haven't you?"
She swallowed. "It was supposed to be therapy. Daniel said it would help with the panic attacks after our parents died. But now… it looks smaller. Like something I dreamed instead of lived."
They got out, the crunch of their steps echoing into the hollow silence. Ethan pushed the gate open just enough to slip through, his flashlight cutting a pale beam through the dust. Grace followed, her every step heavier than the last.
Inside, the hallway was lined with peeling wallpaper, medical charts scattered across the floor. The smell of mildew and old paper wrapped around them.
Ethan's voice came low. "I know a guy who used to work here — Dr. Felix Carr. He said some records were never moved when the place shut down. If we're lucky, they're still locked in storage."
They passed a cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Grace caught her reflection for a moment — her face split in half by the fractured glass. For a heartbeat, she saw Mia's eyes staring back at her instead of her own. She blinked, but the image lingered, cruel and mocking.
"Grace?" Ethan called softly.
"I'm fine," she lied, forcing her voice steady. "Let's keep going."
They reached a door marked Records – Authorized Personnel Only. The handle was rusted, but Ethan forced it open with a metallic groan. Inside, filing cabinets lined the walls, their drawers half open, papers spilling out like secrets clawing to escape.
Ethan began searching by flashlight. "These go back years… most of them are patient logs."
Grace moved slowly, fingertips tracing along the drawers until she stopped at one marked Patient G.W. Her initials.
Her breath hitched.
"Ethan," she whispered. "Here."
He hurried to her side as she pulled open the drawer. Inside were folders, photographs, a few old cassette tapes labeled with dates, and a small envelope marked: CONFIDENTIAL – DR. E. HALL.
Grace opened it with trembling hands. Inside was a printed report:
> Subject responds well to memory suppression under suggestion. Emotional fragments resurface under stress — recommend maintenance therapy and controlled environment. Twin subject displays inverse reaction: heightened recall during exposure.
Grace's eyes widened. "Twin subject… Mia."
Ethan leaned closer, reading over her shoulder. "They used therapy to make you forget… but it looks like your sister remembered everything."
Grace's pulse raced. "Why would Daniel and Mark want that? What could be so dangerous that they'd erase it from me but leave it with her?"
Before Ethan could answer, a soft creak echoed from the hallway. They froze.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
Ethan turned off his flashlight, plunging the room into darkness. Grace's breath came in shallow gasps as light from another beam flickered under the door — moving closer.
Someone was here.
Ethan grabbed her hand, pulling her behind a tall cabinet. The beam of light swept through the cracks in the door, pausing for a long, silent moment. Then the door handle turned.
Grace's heart thundered in her ears.
The door opened just enough for a shadow to fall across the floor. A man's voice — calm, familiar — drifted into the room.
"Grace… you shouldn't have come here."
Grace froze. She knew that voice.
"Daniel," she whispered.
Ethan tensed beside her, ready to move, but Grace's mind was spinning. Daniel. Her husband's partner. The man who had stood by her through her breakdowns, who had promised she was safe.
The same man who had stolen her memories.
She stepped out from behind the cabinet, eyes blazing. "You did this to me."
Daniel smiled faintly, flashlight held like a weapon of light. "We did what was necessary. You don't understand what you're trying to remember, Grace. Some truths are better left buried."
"Then why am I the only one buried with them?"
He sighed. "Because you were the one who made it happen."
Grace blinked, confusion slicing through her fury. "What are you talking about?"
Daniel's smile turned sorrowful. "You don't remember, do you? Hollow Street wasn't where your therapy started. It's where it ended — the night Mia almost died."
The words hit her like a blade. Her vision blurred.
"What did you say?"
But Daniel didn't answer. He simply stepped back toward the door and said, "You've started the clock, Grace. The rest will come whether you want it or not."
Then he was gone — the sound of his footsteps fading into silence.
Grace turned to Ethan, shaking. "He's lying… he has to be."
Ethan looked down at the files in her hands — the evidence of everything she wasn't supposed to remember — and said softly, "Then we'll find out. All of it."
Outside, thunder cracked, and for a moment, the lightning lit up the broken sign through the window. The reflection flickered — and in it, for just a heartbeat, Mia stood behind Grace, smiling.