Emma didn't sleep that night.
She lay in bed under her blanket, eyes fixed on the ceiling, tracking the cracks like they might spell something out if she stared long enough. Outside, the wind rattled the windowpane, and pipes groaning like echoes of forgotten conversations.
Every time she blinked, she saw the girl.
Not full on—just glimpses. A flash of freckles. The curve of a yellow hairpin. A pair of eyes that didn't belong to anyone she knew, but somehow felt familiar. The same girl she'd seen in the mirror.
She told herself it was stress. Deprivation of sleep. But deep down, she knew it wasn't that simple.
The next morning, the mirror was still. No flicker. No ghostly face. Just her own reflection, pale and tired.
She avoided mirrors for the rest of the day.
But the visions didn't stop.
In school, it started again. She brushed past Mr. Gilbert in the hallway and was hit by a sudden, overwhelming image of him, much younger, bruised and shivering in a dark basement. A belt dropped beside him. Then it was gone. A memory. Not hers.
Emma stumbled, gripping the nearest locker for support. Her head spun. She felt sick.
In the cafeteria, it happened again—this time with a teacher's aide. Emma walked past her and was filled with a sudden wave of warmth: little hands tugging at her apron, giggling. A child's voice calling her "mama." A backyard lit with morning light.
The tray slipped from Emma's hands and fell to the ground, drawing stares from half the students in there. She muttered an apology and left, clutching her bag like it might keep her grounded.
Her powers were coming back.
But they weren't like before. These weren't stolen memories flooding in uncontrollably. These were passing through her, like echoes, like whispers asking to be seen.
Back home, Emma locked her door and sat cross-legged on the floor with her old sketchbook in front of her. Her hand trembled as she flipped through the pages—sketches of trees, dream fragments, half-finished portraits. And then she found it.
A drawing she didn't remember making.
The girl.
Round face. Big eyes. Freckles. A yellow hairpin. The lines were soft but urgent, like her hand had moved without thought.
Below it, in the same pencil, were four jagged words:
"I remember you."
Emma's breath caught.
She flipped the page over—blank. But when the lamp hit it at the right angle, faint ink shimmered across the back. She tilted it carefully.
More words appeared:
"Find the others. She's not the only one."
Her heart pounded. This wasn't just a leftover vision. It was a message. Left in her own sketchbook. Written by—what? Her subconscious? Something else?
Her phone buzzed.
Nathan.
You up? Need to show you something. Urgent.
She unlocked the back door, and Nathan stepped in wearing a look somewhere between awe and panic.
I saw this girl that matched your exact description when I was coming home from school.
Emma's breath hitched.
The girl. Freckles. Yellow hairpin. She looked straight at Nathan.
"So she's real?" Emma whispered. "She's real."
Nathan nodded. "But she disappeared as soon as I blinked and she might be looking for you."
Everything Dave had said came rushing back. The Keepers. The experiments. The memories she'd stored without understanding. If others like her were out there—others who could see and remember things the world had forgotten—then The Cell's collapse wasn't the end.
It was the beginning.
"We have to find her," Emma said. "Before someone else does."
Nathan didn't argue. He just looked at her like he already knew what she was going to say.
"You sure you're up for this?" Nathan asked
Emma just nodded.
Outside, the wind picked up.
And in the hallway, the mirror flickered—just once—before going still again.