She dreamt of white rooms again.
Bright, sterile, endless.
Only this time, she wasn't just standing in them—she was part of them. Like the walls knew her name, like the hum of the fluorescent lights was tuned to her heartbeat.
She walked barefoot down a hallway, everything eerily quiet.
And then—
A door at the end.
Slightly ajar.
The air behind it pulsed.
Something waited.
Her hand reached for the knob.
The moment her fingers touched metal—
Bang!
Ava shot up in bed, heart hammering, sweat clinging to her skin like a second layer. Her breath came fast, uneven. The dream still lingered, vivid enough to feel real. She blinked, trying to ground herself. Wood-paneled ceiling. The soft creak of old pipes. Morning light bleeding through the curtains.
Safe.
Or… what passed for it now.
Eli stirred beside her, mumbling something incoherent before flipping over, one arm draped across her waist without even waking.
She stared at him.
Peaceful. Soft-featured in sleep.
How was it so easy for him to shut it off? To rest, even now?
She slipped out of bed quietly.
Some things were easier alone.
---
The cabin kitchen was half-lit, the kind of dim glow that felt suspended between worlds. Morning hadn't fully arrived yet, and night hadn't fully let go. Ava stood barefoot by the window, her hands wrapped around a chipped mug of lukewarm coffee she didn't remember making.
Outside, the trees swayed gently, like they didn't care what had happened underground last night. The world moved on. Unbothered. Indifferent.
She hated it a little for that.
The screen. The message. The video.
It hadn't left her head since they got back.
"Subject 19."
It felt like a crack in the mirror. A fracture that made everything else in her life feel unstable. Manufactured. Like any second, it could all just… fall apart.
Her fingers curled tighter around the mug.
It wasn't just fear. It was doubt.
And doubt was worse.
Because it made her question even the things that once felt solid—her instincts, her memories, her sense of self.
And Eli.
God, Eli.
She didn't know how to look at him the same anymore. Not because he'd changed. But because she had. Or maybe just discovered who she'd always been.
And what if that version wasn't someone he could love?
---
"Morning." His voice was rough with sleep as he padded into the room, shirt half-tugged down, hair sticking out in directions that defied physics.
Ava didn't turn. "You snore when you're too warm."
"I do not."
"You do."
He moved behind her, arms sneaking around her waist, face burying into her neck. She froze.
It was small. The pause.
But he noticed it.
Slowly, he pulled back. Not fully—just enough to look at her face.
"You okay?"
She didn't answer.
Because "okay" was a lie. But so was "not okay." It was all… somewhere in between.
"You keep looking at me like I'm gonna crack," she said finally.
Eli tilted his head. "That's not what I'm doing."
"No? Then what is it?"
He hesitated. "I think… I'm trying to figure out if you want me close or if you're just being polite about needing space."
That shut her up.
Because damn it, he was right. Again.
She sighed. "I don't know what I want."
"Then I'll stay near but not hover. You okay with that?"
She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. "Yeah."
They stood like that in silence. Not touching. Not speaking.
Just breathing in the same room and pretending it was enough.
---
Later, they went through the files again.
Eli had dragged out a box they'd almost missed last night—wedged behind a false panel near the surveillance monitors. The box was marked with one word:
INTERNAL
The contents were messier. Less curated. Scrawled notes, torn folders, pieces of photographs sliced clean through someone's face.
There was a name that kept coming up:
Dr. Marcus Renn.
Ava's pulse jumped the third time she saw it.
"I know that name," she murmured.
Eli looked up. "From where?"
"I… I don't know. But it feels like…" She trailed off, fingers twitching. "Like something locked just rattled."
They kept digging.
Half an hour later, they found a heavily redacted transcript. It was a conversation. Between Subject 19 and Dr. Renn.
The first line read:
DR. RENN: Ava, do you remember what happened at the lake?
The rest was blacked out.
But it was enough.
She reeled back like she'd been slapped. "The lake—Eli, I do remember that."
He stood up fast. "What happened?"
"There was a storm. I was little. And I fell. I remember coughing, choking. Someone pulled me out." She gripped the edge of the table. "But I always thought it was just… a dream. A nightmare."
Eli reached for her gently. "Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was them. Maybe he was the one who saved you."
She stared at him.
"No," she said. "He didn't save me. He kept me."
---
They took a drive that afternoon.
Neither of them said why.
But maybe they both just needed the movement—needed to feel like they weren't stuck in a static loop of memories and half-truths. The gravel road rattled beneath the tires, the trees a blur of green and shadow.
Eli glanced over. "Where do you think he is now?"
Ava didn't answer right away.
Then: "I think he's watching."
Eli stiffened.
"You think he's alive?"
"I think…" She swallowed. "I think this was a trigger. The screen. The file. It didn't just say welcome back, Eli. It was waiting for me."
"You think it was set up?"
"I think it was bait."
Eli's hands tightened on the wheel. "Then we need to find him before he finds you."
She turned to the window, lips pressed into a thin line.
"No," she said. "We need to let him."
The silence in the car wasn't uncomfortable.
But it was loud.
Eli drove slower now, like they both needed the road to stretch longer, as if slowing down the journey could somehow slow down whatever was coming. Trees blurred past in waves of green and gold. The sun dipped lower, catching the edge of the horizon.
Ava stared out the window, her knuckles pale where her hand gripped the door. She hadn't looked at him since she'd said it—We need to let him—and Eli couldn't tell if she was being brave or reckless.
Maybe both.
Maybe there wasn't a difference anymore.
"You know what that means, right?" he asked finally, voice low.
She gave the smallest nod. "Yeah."
"He'll come for you."
"I'm counting on it."
Eli exhaled through his nose, tightening his grip on the wheel. "I don't like that plan."
"You don't have to."
"And what—your plan is just to wait?"
Her gaze didn't leave the window. "No. I'm going to remember."
That made him glance at her. She felt it, but didn't meet his eyes.
"Remember what?"
"Everything he tried to bury."
---
Back at the cabin, the light had shifted. The shadows grew long across the floorboards, stretching into corners like whispers. The files were still spread out on the table, some half-open, others marked with faded red stamps: RESTRICTED, LEVEL 3, RECALIBRATION LOGS.
Eli shut the front door behind them. Ava walked straight to the table.
She moved differently now.
Like her body remembered more than her mind did.
She touched a file like it was fragile glass, fingers trailing over the name typed at the top: Ava Lane, Trial 7B. There was something familiar in the handwriting—her own, maybe. A signature at the bottom that looked too clean to be real.
She sat.
And opened it.
There were charts. Bloodwork. Brain scans. Pages full of numbers that didn't mean anything to her. But her eyes landed on a photo stapled to the top right corner.
It was her.
At maybe six or seven.
Pale, serious, wires taped to her temples. Eyes too big for her face.
She stared at it.
Didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
Eli hovered nearby, unsure whether to step closer or give her space. He chose silence.
It was the first audio log that broke her trance.
It wasn't even labeled. Just a dusty cassette in a thin plastic sleeve, nearly invisible among the other papers. Eli picked it up, holding it between two fingers like it might burn.
"Want me to play it?"
Ava hesitated.
Then nodded.
---
The recording was faint at first. Some static. A few clicks. Then a low voice.
DR. RENN (filtered): What do you see now?
Silence.
Then, a child's voice.
YOUNG AVA: There's a lake. And the girl is standing in it.
DR. RENN: What's she doing?
YOUNG AVA: Waiting. But she's scared. I think… she's waiting for someone to tell her she can come out.
A pause. The tape crackled.
DR. RENN: Why can't she come out on her own?
YOUNG AVA: She's afraid of forgetting again.
Ava swallowed hard.
Her fingers curled into fists in her lap.
Eli didn't say anything—he just watched her, watched the storm building behind her eyes. He could almost hear it, like thunder right before the downpour.
"She's talking about herself," Ava whispered.
"You think you remember that session?"
"No." Her voice shook. "I think I remember being her."
She stood suddenly, pushing back from the table like she needed distance.
"He knew," she said, pacing now. "He knew I was waking up, even back then. That's why the sessions kept repeating. That's why the lake kept showing up."
"You think it's symbolic?"
"I think it's real."
---
That night, sleep was a stranger.
She didn't even try.
Eli dozed off on the couch eventually, a book open on his chest, glasses slightly askew. Ava stayed up, sitting cross-legged on the floor, index cards and notes fanned out around her like a makeshift war room.
She was chasing threads—trying to connect the lake, the name, the number 19, and why every document had parts ripped out, as if someone had deliberately left breadcrumbs, but just enough to keep her lost.
And then something clicked.
Not in the files.
In her.
She froze mid-reach.
Then slowly stood, moving like her body was guiding her instead of thought. She crossed the room and pulled open the drawer near the back bookshelf. A small black box rested inside, untouched since they'd arrived.
She didn't remember packing it.
But it was hers.
She opened it.
Inside—an old key. Rusted a little. A chain with a worn charm. And a photo.
Two girls.
One of them her.
The other… unfamiliar.
But not entirely.
She turned the photo over.
In faded ink, just one word.
"Em."
Ava's knees buckled slightly.
Because suddenly, she remembered.
The laughter echoing in trees.
A secret knock against a cabin wall.
A pinky swear that they'd never forget each other, even if the world tried to make them.
Em wasn't a hallucination.
She was real.
And Ava had left her behind.
---
Morning came slow and gray.
Eli rubbed his face, blinking into the soft light. His back hurt from sleeping on the couch. But the first thing he noticed wasn't the discomfort—it was the open door to the deck.
Ava sat outside.
Barefoot. Wrapped in a hoodie too big for her.
Staring at the trees like they might answer her questions.
He joined her quietly.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then: "You remember something?"
She nodded, lips tight.
"There was a girl."
He waited.
"Her name was Em," she whispered. "She was my friend. No… she was more. We weren't just playing in the woods. We were hiding."
Eli's stomach dropped. "From what?"
Ava turned to him, eyes glassy. "From them."
And in that moment, he knew the plan had changed.
This wasn't about waiting anymore.
It was about finding out what the hell they'd done to her—and why they'd erased someone who clearly mattered more than anything.