The door closed behind them with a polite click.
The sound was swallowed by the walls, as if the room didn't want to let it leave.
Clara wasn't breathing.
In front of her, the figure in the chair slowly lifted its head.
It was her face. The same features, the same eyes, only calmer, as if that version of her had nothing left to fear.
"Adrian…" she whispered.
He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel his warmth against her back.
"You see her too?"
"Yes."
Her voice was a thread, weaker than she wanted. "But she shouldn't be there."
The woman in the chair tilted her head in the same way.
Half a heartbeat later, just enough of a delay to make it unbearable.
A reflection trying to learn how to live on its own.
A shiver ran down Clara's neck.
Adrian's hand caught her arm on instinct.
The touch was barely there but it was enough.
She closed her eyes, as if struck by a small current.
"Don't do that, Clara."
His voice was low, tense, honest. "Not like this."
"Why?"
He inhaled softly, searching for a version of the truth he could survive.
"Because I don't know how I'd react."
He let go at once, as if burned.
But the air between them had already changed.
Clara took a step forward.
The woman in the chair followed, half a second behind.
Every movement was precise, rehearsed, yet too human to be mimicry.
"She's copying me," Clara murmured.
"No," Adrian said, watching her. "She's remembering."
They looked at each other and in that glance lived something neither of them could stand for long.
Adrian moved a half step closer.
Not by choice, but by gravity.
Their breaths tangled, two rhythms trying to stay apart and failing.
"Every time you're near me," he said, voice shaking, "I feel like I could lose myself."
Clara held his gaze.
"Lose yourself where?"
"In you."
The words came out lighter than he intended but trembled on his lips like fever.
He covered his face with his hand, almost ashamed.
"Don't look at me like that, Clara. If you stay that close, I can't control myself."
She didn't move.
All the training, all the structure she built around herself, meant nothing now.
She could have stepped back but she didn't.
The figure in the chair faded.
Not vanished, switched off, like a light.
Only the impression of a body remained on the fabric.
On the armrest lay a folder, identical to hers.
Clara picked it up carefully.
Inside: one single line, typed in black.
Session 7 – Contact Established. Synchronization In Progress.
She turned to Adrian.
"Look."
He didn't move.
"Don't touch it."
"Why?"
"Because if you do… it might touch you back."
His tone was calm, but there was a kind of fear in his eyes that felt too intimate to name.
Clara closed the folder.
"What are you, Adrian?" she whispered.
"I'm what you remember," he said quietly. "Not what you want."
Her silence filled the room, dense as breath.
A soft sound behind them.
The door.
It was opening, slowly, as if the room itself had decided to let them go.
From the intercom, a familiar voice, too familiar, whispered:
"Please, take a seat, Doctor Voss."
Clara spun around.
The chair was no longer empty.
Someone sat there again.
But this time, Adrian was no longer beside her.
Only his breath, still hanging in the air.