The next morning broke with a quiet so heavy it felt like the world was holding its breath. The fog hadn't lifted; it clung to the lake, wrapping the cabin in a ghostly shroud. Marrin sat by the window, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring into that endless white.
She hadn't slept at all. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her reflection smiling back at her — calm, patient, waiting.
When Calvin entered the room, she didn't turn.
"You were up all night," he said softly.
She nodded. "It doesn't feel like I'm waking up anymore. Just… shifting between nightmares."
He came to stand beside her, his voice low and measured. "You've been through trauma. That kind of disorientation—"
"Stop." She looked up at him sharply. "Don't use that word. Trauma belongs to people who remember what happened. I don't even know what's real."
Calvin hesitated, his eyes searching hers. "Then let's start from what we do know."
Marrin's lips twitched in a humorless smile. "You mean what you think you know."
He handed her a tablet — salvaged data from the facility, decrypted overnight. "You might want to see this."
On the screen were files tagged Project MIRROR. Most were corrupted, but one video had survived. Marrin's hand trembled slightly as she hit play.
The image flickered to life — a sterile room, the same one they had just burned to ash. Two figures in lab coats stood beside a glass pod. Inside it… her.
Or a version of her. Pale, unconscious, wires trailing from her temples.
A woman's voice narrated in the background:
"Subject 7—stable. Neural imprint integration successful. Memory fidelity: 92%. Emotional feedback: under control."
Calvin glanced at Marrin. "Subject seven."
Marrin's voice was barely a whisper. "There were six before me."
The video continued. The woman on the screen leaned closer to the pod, brushing a hand over the glass. "You'll wake up soon, my beautiful echo. And when you do, the world will believe you've always been her."
Marrin hit pause. Her breath came fast and shallow.
"An echo," she murmured. "That's what I am to them. An echo pretending to be a life."
Calvin knelt beside her. "Marrin, listen—"
"No, you listen!" Her voice cracked, the emotion bursting out like a wave she could no longer contain. "Every memory I have — every feeling — might just be programming! Maybe I'm not mourning my life. Maybe I'm mourning hers! The woman they built me to replace!"
Calvin reached for her, but she stood abruptly, pacing the room.
"I can feel her in my head," Marrin said, tapping her temple. "Sometimes I think I hear thoughts that aren't mine. Words that don't belong to me."
"What kind of words?"
She looked out the window again, her reflection faint in the fogged glass. "She says she wants her life back."
Later that afternoon, Calvin busied himself checking the perimeter, but Marrin couldn't sit still. The cabin felt smaller by the hour, air too thick to breathe. She wandered into the study, drawn to an old mirror hanging crookedly on the wall.
Its surface was clouded with age, but as she stared into it, her pulse began to race.
Her reflection blinked — half a second too late.
Marrin froze.
The reflection's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Her lips didn't move at all.
Then the words appeared on the glass in condensation, forming slowly, one letter at a time.
LET ME OUT.
Marrin stumbled backward, knocking over a lamp. Glass shattered. She clutched her chest, gasping, and when she looked again — the words were gone.
But something else caught her eye — faint, engraved into the bottom corner of the mirror frame: Property of Genesis Corporation.
Her breath caught.
"Calvin!" she shouted. "You said this place was one of your father's safehouses. What the hell is Genesis doing here?"
He appeared in the doorway, face pale. "I didn't know. My father used to—" He stopped. His jaw tightened. "He used to consult for them."
The air between them thickened, sharp as glass.
"So all this time," Marrin said slowly, "you've been dragging me from one Genesis lab to another."
Calvin shook his head. "No, Marrin. I swear, I didn't—"
"Then why does it feel like everywhere you take me, they're already waiting?"
Before he could answer, the lights flickered. The hum of the generator sputtered once, twice — then died completely.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Then a voice echoed through the cabin speakers, soft and distorted — her voice.
"You can't hide from yourself, Marrin."
The mirror across the room flickered, glowing faintly from within.
"You're not supposed to exist twice."
Calvin raised his gun, stepping in front of Marrin. "Where is she broadcasting from?"
Marrin's voice shook. "Everywhere."
Outside, the fog thickened until the trees vanished entirely.Inside, the reflection in the mirror smiled again — only this time, it wasn't alone.There were two of them.One smiling.One screaming.
The darkness in the cabin pressed against them like a living thing. Marrin could hear her own heartbeat echoing in the empty rooms, but it wasn't alone. Behind every sound, every shifting shadow, she felt the presence of the other her — the version she had glimpsed in the lab, the one the scientists called "original."
Calvin's silhouette stayed close. "Stay calm," he whispered. "We'll figure this out."
"Calm?" Marrin laughed, a bitter, sharp sound. "I've spent my entire life wondering if I was ever real, and now she's here, somewhere in my head, in my mirror, in everything I do!"
Calvin gripped her arm. "Then we fight. Together."
She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. The mirror on the far wall shimmered faintly. The faint outline of her alternate self appeared again, smiling. But there was anger in those eyes, something Marrin hadn't seen in her own reflection — a predator's patience.
You belong to me, the mirror whispered.
Marrin felt her stomach twist. "Not anymore," she shouted, slamming her palm against the glass. The words didn't fade. Instead, the glass rippled like water, and for a moment, she swore the reflection stepped forward.
Calvin grabbed her shoulder. "Don't touch it again!"
The cabin trembled. Lights flickered, machinery hummed to life in the walls. Somehow, Genesis Corporation had left a network of controls embedded in the house — systems Marrin hadn't noticed before. Her alternate self was using it to communicate, maybe even manipulate the environment.
I can make you remember differently. I can erase your choices, the voice said, soft and deliberate.
Marrin felt a chill. Her memories — the pain of betrayal, the taste of freedom in her second life — flickered like candle flames. Am I real? she thought. Or am I just what they wanted me to be?
She shook her head violently. "No. I am me. I survived death once. I will survive this."
Calvin nodded, his face grim. "Then let's get to the source. Whatever part of Genesis is doing this, we find it — and we end it."
They moved through the cabin carefully. Every step was measured, every corner scanned. Marrin's senses were on edge. Even her shadow seemed to move with a mind of its own.
Then they heard it — a sound from the basement. A low hum, metallic and alive. Marrin's knees almost buckled.
"That's it," she whispered. "The generator… or whatever is powering her."
Calvin set his jaw. "Then we go down. Together."
The basement stairs creaked as they descended. Cold air met them, smelling of damp metal and ozone. The room below was massive, filled with rows of dormant pods, mirrors, and cables snaking across the floor. But one pod glowed faintly blue, the source of the voice.
Inside, her alternate self floated, eyes open, unblinking.
Marrin's breath caught. "It's really you…"
And you can't stop me, the voice said, calm, measured, deadly.
"Maybe I don't have to stop you," Marrin said, her voice steady despite the terror coursing through her. "Maybe I just have to show you we're the same. That I survived, and I chose this life. And you can't take it from me."
Calvin raised an eyebrow. "And if she refuses to listen?"
Marrin's hands clenched into fists. "Then we fight. Because nothing else matters."
The blue glow intensified. The pod's systems activated fully, lights scanning her face, reading her expression. The mirror across the basement shimmered, revealing multiple reflections — dozens of variations of Marrin, each one perfect, each one watching.
You think you're the real one? the voice hissed through the speakers. I remember everything. You're nothing but an imitation.
Marrin stepped forward. "I lived. I bled. I loved. And I fought. That makes me real. That makes me me."
The pod's glow pulsed violently. Calvin grabbed her arm. "Marrin, step back!"
She didn't. She looked straight at her alternate self and said, "Face it. You exist because of me. And I'm not afraid of you anymore."
The pod shuddered, the basement lights flickering like lightning. The mirrors warped. And for the first time, her reflection in the glass wavered, unsure.
This isn't over… the voice whispered.
Marrin smiled faintly. "No, it's not. But neither am I."
They turned to leave the basement. Outside, the fog had lifted slightly, a pale dawn touching the lake. But Marrin knew this was only the beginning. Genesis wasn't finished, and neither was the battle between her and the echo of herself.
And for the first time, she felt something she hadn't in years — hope.