It looked exactly like him.
Same clothes. Same haircut. Same tired eyes.
But the smile on its face wasn't his.
It was calm. Almost… pitying.
"Who are you?" Ethan asked.
The doppelgänger tilted its head.
"I'm what's left when you forget."
The air in the room felt heavier now, like time was folding inward.
"I'm not dreaming," Ethan said. "Am I?"
The reflection didn't answer. It walked past him, slow, deliberate, like it knew the room better than he did. Its steps made no sound.
It ran a hand along the wall, which shimmered faintly, like static under wallpaper.
Ethan took a step back. "This is real."
"That's not the right word," the reflection said, tapping the glass of the mirror it had just stepped through. "It's remembered."
Then it turned to face him fully.
"You died, Ethan. You just haven't processed it yet."
The world tilted. That word again—died.
He grabbed the edge of the wall for balance. "That's not possible. I woke up. I had coffee. I—"
"You had a script. It's what your mind plays while it unravels."
Ethan backed toward the door, but it was gone again—nothing behind him but more mirror.
"I saw my own obituary," he muttered.
The reflection nodded.
"First sign. Then come the notes. The distortions. The doubles. Eventually… the loop."
"The loop?"
"It hasn't started for you yet. But it will. And when it does, you'll understand what this really is."
"What?"
The reflection smiled again. "A rehearsal."
It began to fade, like a program closing.
"Wait—" Ethan stepped forward. "Why are you telling me this?"
But the reflection was already glitching. Its features stuttered, fragments peeling off like code crashing mid-execution.
"I wasn't supposed to," it said, its voice breaking into static. "But you're close. Closer than most."
And then, mid-sentence, it vanished.
Just blinked out of existence.
The room fell silent.
Only one thing remained: the mirror.
Now empty.
Ethan looked into it.
This time, no reflection at all.
Only a message written across the glass in foggy letters:
"WAKE UP."
Behind him, the door reappeared. Wide open.
Outside, the hallway looped in an impossible circle — he could see himself, far away, entering it again.
Again.
And again.
Dozens of versions. All walking the same hallway.
All searching.
The loop had begun.
⸻
[End of Chapter 5]
(End of Arc 1: The Obituary)