[Strand A: Rin and the Box]
The latch gave way without sound.
Inside, there was no light, no glow — just a neatly folded coat. Black, with stitched cuffs, too large for any child but small enough to fit her then.
She didn't remember owning it.
Until she touched it.
The memory hit like a fall:
A corridor. Fire alarms. Smoke. Someone screaming her name. Herself, younger. Running toward a door — not away from the danger but into it. And just before she could cross the line, someone wrapped that coat around her. She didn't see their face. But she remembered what they said.
"Live. If not for yourself, then for the story that still needs you."
She blinked. Tears welled — but not because she was sad. Because she recognized the voice. Not fully. Not yet.
But she would.
At the bottom of the box was a nameplate. Not hers. Someone else's:
"To the one who always walked ahead.
— From the one who was left behind.**"
[Strand B: Developer — Observation Log 0091]
A silent chamber. No door. Just a translucent wall with countless suspended screens. The Developer — indistinct, blank-faced, not one of the familiar ones — stood alone.
Log 0091 – Transcription:
"Subject Rin has accessed suppressed Segment 4C.
Emotional stability: wavering.
Integration of cross-memory confirmed.
Probability of Threadwriter overlap: 72%.
Weaver interference level: acceptable."
A pause. The Developer's hand hovered above a "halt" command.
"…And yet, no intervention. Why?"
The screen zoomed in. The coat. The nameplate. Rin's face.
"Because the moment we feared is here — and nothing broke."
The Developer turned, and for the first time, their reflection flickered.
Not their own.
But someone who used to be like them. Watching from behind the mirror.