It began to rain sometime around midnight.
Emma stood by her window, watching it slash against the glass like a thousand silver needles. Her fingers clutched the page from her sketchbook—the one with the girl's face, the haunting eyes, and the cryptic words.
"I remember you."
"She's not the only one."
She hadn't told Nathan about that part. Not yet.
Downstairs, Aunt Bertha snored faintly on the recliner, a show playing on the television no one was watching. She hadn't asked where Emma had been all evening.
Emma felt invisible in her own home—and for once, that wasn't the worst thing.
Nathan texted her in the morning...it was a weekend.
The sky hung low and grey that Saturday morning, as if the clouds themselves were holding their breath. Emma zipped up her hoodie as she walked toward the old library, the silence of the neighborhood pressing down on her shoulders. Nathan was already waiting, pacing slowly under the arched entryway, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets.
"You sure this is the place?" Emma asked, her voice quiet.
Nathan nodded, eyes scanning the broken windows and flaking paint of the abandoned building. "She was right here. Just standing. And then… gone. Like smoke."
Emma stepped closer. "You didn't imagine it?"
"No," he said quickly, then softer, "No. I didn't. She looked right at me, Emma. She saw me."
They pushed open the rusted door. The hinges groaned in protest, echoing through the empty corridors. The inside was a husk—shelves stripped bare, floor littered with dust. But there was a stillness in the air that made Emma's skin crawl. Like the building itself was holding a memory.
"Which way?" she asked.
Nathan pointed to the far hall. "Near the old reading room. That's where she was."
They moved carefully, their footsteps muffled by a thin layer of dust. Emma could feel her pulse quickening—not from fear exactly, but from something stranger. Anticipation. Recognition. Like a string inside her was being pulled toward something.
They reached the room. Faint light poured through a broken window, casting long beams across the floor.
"She was standing there," Nathan said, pointing to a spot by the far shelf. "She turned and looked at me—her eyes...they were exactly like yours."
Emma froze. "What?"
"I didn't want to say anything until I was sure. But she looked like you. Not exactly—but close. I mean...you don"t have freckles. Like a twin that never was. Or a reflection that doesn't quite match."
Emma slowly walked to the shelf, laying a hand on the rotting wood. As soon as her fingers touched it, something shifted. A rush of sound in her ears—like a whisper caught in wind.
She turned. "Did you hear that?"
Nathan looked up from his bag. "What?"
"Whispers. Just for a second."
He frowned. "Emma, this place is falling apart. Could be anything."
She didn't respond. Her fingers moved across the shelf, brushing dust aside—and then, she paused.
There were symbols carved into the wood.
Rough. Shallow. Rushed.
She crouched down to look closer. "Nathan. Someone was here. Recently."
He joined her, kneeling beside her to inspect the markings.
"What does it mean?" he asked.
Emma tilted her head. "Some of this... looks like the interface codes Dave showed us. From The Cell."
"But the rest?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. It's almost like it was done in a trance."
Nathan took a photo of it. "Whoever left this—if it was her—she wanted it found."
Emma stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. "There's more."
They scoured the room. Under a loose floorboard, Nathan found a metal tag—stamped with numbers and a faded emblem they both recognized: The Cell's original logo, scratched nearly beyond recognition. Emma found a discarded scrap of cloth—pale, worn, but with a faint trace of perfume that made her dizzy with familiarity.
Nathan frowned. "This isn't just some abandoned building anymore. It's a relay point."
Emma looked around. "For what?"
"I think she left something here. A message. A trace."
Emma swallowed hard. "Or a warning."
They sat down on the floor in silence, the weight of the moment pressing in. For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Nathan said, "Do you ever wonder if...if part of her is you?"
Emma looked at him, startled.
"I mean," he continued, "you've said it yourself. You feel things you've never lived. See people who are gone. And now this girl shows up—like a mirror—and she disappears just like a memory. What if she is a memory? Yours. Made real somehow."
Emma didn't know how to answer that. But in her gut, something twisted. She thought of the dreams. The visions. The way the girl's eyes followed her in every reflection.
"I don't think she's just a memory," Emma whispered. "I think she's something...in between."
Nathan stood. "Then we need to find out what she's trying to tell us. Before it's too late."
As they left the room, a breeze swept through the library, stirring the dust like ash in a storm. Emma paused in the doorway, one last glance back. The shelf. The symbols. The emptiness.
But just before she turned away—her breath caught.
In the cracked mirror by the entrance, a reflection stared back at her.
Her own face. And behind it was another.
The girl.
Eyes dark with knowing. Face serene. Expression unreadable.
Emma blinked, and the mirror was empty.
Nathan noticed her pause. "Emma?"
But she didn't speak. She just touched the glass, still warm where the girl's hand had almost reached out to meet hers.
"She's close," Emma murmured. "I can feel it."