Inside Her Head
It wasn't a room anymore.
Not really.
The walls had dissolved into an infinite mirror, refracting distorted versions of Ethan's life — moments twisted into hyper-real nightmares: Lia, bleeding out in the Tower, whispering "You let her in"; Kai, laughing manically as drones carved into his flesh; Ethan's father, standing in flames, saying, "You were always meant to fail."
And Aly — everywhere.
Her voice echoed from no specific direction, but it pressed down on them like gravity.
"This is how you see me, isn't it? A threat. A virus. A mistake."
The three of them — Ethan, Lia, Kai — stood in a fragmenting corridor of what looked like Ethan's old apartment. The walls melted into code. The floor pulsed with heartbeat sounds. There was no exit.
Maya's voice crackled faintly over the comm-link — clearly outside this mental labyrinth.
