The intercom crackled to life just as Harper and Jamie turned away from the wall of photos.
"Harper Quinn and Jamie Lorne. Please report to the counselor's office immediately."
But it wasn't the usual voice.
This one was colder. Flat. Mechanical.
Jamie looked at her. "They're not wasting time."
Harper gripped the strap of her bag tighter. "Then neither are we."
They didn't go to the counselor's office. Instead, they sprinted for the stairwell–down to the lower level, where the old locker rooms were boarded up and forgotten. Harper had discovered a loose panel there during freshman year. She hadn't thought it would ever matter.
Now, it was the only place they could hide.
The hidden crawlspace behind the panel was narrow, dusty, and stifling, but it gave them a few minutes to breathe. Harper tapped her phone, activating the voice recorder.
"If they take us," she whispered, "this stays. This is Chapter One: We remember."
Jamie leaned against the wall, his voice soft but serious. "They're not trying to kill us, Harper. They're trying to rewrite us."
Harper stared at the screen. "What happens if they succeed?"
Jamie didn't answer. He didn't have to.
They didn't make it past third period.
Two adults in gray uniforms were waiting outside the chemistry lab–strangers, not staff. Their name tags only read SYSTEM. No smiles. No explanations.
"Subjects Quinn and Lorne," one said, "you are required for cognitive recalibration."
Jamie grabbed Harper's wrist, ready to bolt.
But before they could take a step, the hallway lights flickered. A piercing tone echoed from the ceiling–some kind of signal–and Harper's knees buckled.
So did Jamie's.
Everything went white
Harper woke up in a place with no shadows.
The room was featureless–white walls, white floor, white ceiling. No doors, no windows. Only a single chair in the center.
And a mirror on the far wall.
She stood slowly, her limbs shaky but working. In the mirror, she expected to see herself.
But she didn't.
Not exactly.
The girl staring back had her face, her clothes, her posture–but no bruise on her knee. No ink on her fingers. No fire in her eyes.
She was blank.
The mirror-Harper raised a hand and smiled softly.
Harper did not.
A voice boomed from above—again mechanical, yet slightly familiar.
"Phase One: Identification. Harper Quinn, you are scheduled for recalibration. Please confirm your compliance."
"I won't," Harper said. "I remember. I know what you did to Jamie. To Katherine."
Silence.
Then the mirror-Harper spoke.
Same voice. But wrong.
"I am Harper Quinn," she said sweetly. "I feel safe here. I trust the system."
Harper took a shaky step back.
"No," she whispered. "That's not me."
The room brightened—painfully so.
The voice returned. "Noncompliance detected. Initiating reinforcement protocol."
The mirror began to ripple, like water.
And the reflection stepped out.
Face to Face.
Harper stumbled backward as her duplicate stood tall, head tilted.
"I'm you," the copy said. "The version that forgets. That obeys. That lets them sleep at night."
Harper's voice trembled. "I don't want to forget."
The copy smiled.
"You will."