Morning bled into fog thick, unmoving, the kind that dulled sound and softened edges until even breathing felt like trespass.
The cabin was still. The kind of still that hummed beneath the skin.
Rowan sat at the narrow table, face lit only by the glow of his laptop. The screen threw pale light across his jaw, highlighting the bruise that had turned green around the edges. His hands hovered over the keys too carefully, too tense.
The laptop hummed like it was alive. The cables coiled across the table like veins.
Maya stood near the wall, arms folded. Rowan's coat swallowed her, the sleeves long past her wrists. The air was cold enough that her breath lingered for a second before dissolving.
"What are you doing?" she asked finally. Her voice was low, rough from sleep, carrying a suspicion that made the silence shiver.
He didn't look up. "Tracing the frequency."
"The frequency?" She frowned. "You make it sound like she's a radio station."
"She might as well be." His voice was soft, distracted, as his fingers danced across the keyboard. "Every echo has a carrier wave. If I can isolate it, I can find where she's projecting from."
Maya stepped closer, her bare feet making no sound on the wood. "And if she's projecting through me?"
He froze. His hands hovered mid-air. The pause stretched until it became a second heartbeat in the room.
"Maya," he said, barely audible, "then I'll find a way to separate you."
"You keep saying that like it's easy."
He shut his eyes. "It's not."
"Then why are you still here?"
His head lifted slowly. When he met her gaze, his eyes were rimmed in red — not from crying, but from exhaustion too deep to recover from.
"Because I couldn't save her."
"Amelia." The name was a wound between them.
"Yes."
Maya's voice softened. "And me?"
He hesitated. "You're different."
"Because I'm alive?"
"No," he whispered, closing the laptop. "Because you still have a choice."
A small sound came from the machine, a faint click, like static sighing through metal. Both turned instinctively. The laptop's light flickered back on without him touching it.
Words appeared on the screen, stark and white:
REMEMBER THE ROOM.
Maya's stomach dropped. "What, what room?"
Rowan didn't answer immediately. His expression changed, a flicker of something caught between memory and dread.
"The lab," he said finally.
Her pulse spiked. "You said it burned down."
"I lied."
"Why?" Her voice cracked, disbelieving. "Why would you lie about that?"
"Because if the echo remembers the lab," he said, voice trembling, "it means she's going home."
Maya stared at the words glowing on the screen. "Home?"
He nodded once.
"Then that's where we go," she said.
Rowan blinked. "No."
"Yes."
"Maya, it's suicide."
"So what?" she snapped. "You think hiding in this cabin makes us safe? She's in my head, Rowan. Every breath I take feels borrowed. If the lab is where this started, then that's where it ends."
He shook his head. "You don't understand what waits there."
"I understand enough."
"You don't." His voice was sharper now, breaking through his restraint. "You didn't see what she became. What we made her become."
"Then show me," she said. "Stop protecting me with half-truths. You want me to trust you? Stop lying to me."
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head, eyes searching hers for something fear, maybe permission. "You sound just like her."
"Good," she said. "Maybe that's why she won't kill me first."
The words hit the air and stuck there, heavy and electric.
Rowan reached out like he wanted to stop her from speaking again but didn't. His fingers hovered midair, trembling. "You have no idea what you're saying."
"Then teach me," she said softly.
Silence folded over them, thick and close. Outside, fog pressed against the glass like something alive, its breath fogging the window.
The laptop beeped again a single high tone that echoed in their chests.
Maya turned back to it. The words were gone. New ones appeared.
COME HOME.
Her breath hitched. "Rowan"
He was already standing, face pale. "She knows we're awake."
Maya's hands curled into fists at her sides. "Then she knows where we'll go next."
He looked at her really, like a man memorizing something he knows he'll lose.
"When we get there," he said quietly, "don't believe what you see."
Maya tilted her head. "And if it's you I can't trust?"
He hesitated. "Then remember who kissed you first."
The fog outside shifted, rippled like a body moving beneath fabric. A faint vibration hummed in the air not from the laptop this time, but from somewhere far beyond it.
Maya moved closer to the window, her breath leaving a small bloom of condensation. "She's calling us, isn't she?"
Rowan's jaw clenched. "She's waiting."
Maya turned, eyes dark and glinting under the low light. "Then let's not keep her waiting."
Outside, the fog pulsed once like a heartbeat. The sound of the laptop's fan deepened, its light flickering twice before settling into a steady glow.
On the screen, for a brief second before it vanished, another line appeared:
TIME TO REMEMBER.
The words dissolved. The room went still.
Rowan shut the laptop, the click echoing like a gunshot.
Maya didn't flinch.
"Let's go," she said.
And in the window's reflection, just behind her shoulder
a second face smiled.