The phone vibrated again.
Not sharply. Not urgently.
Like it was breathing.
Benny hadn't touched the screen. The option ADJUST VIEWPOINT still hovered there, faintly pulsing, waiting with the patience of something that knew time was on its side.
"Stop," Benny whispered.
The word felt useless the moment he said it.
The camera feed shimmered.
For a brief instant, the room blurred—not like motion, but like focus slipping. The walls softened at the edges, and the mirror across from him darkened, its surface rippling as if it were water disturbed by a single drop.
Then a sound came through the phone.
Not a voice.
At first.
It was static—but not random. Rhythmic.
Patterned. Almost like someone breathing too close to a microphone.
Benny's stomach tightened.
"That's not you," he said.
The calm voice answered, slower than usual.
"No."
The static sharpened.
Then someone spoke.
"You shouldn't be alone yet."
The voice was human.
Not distorted. Not layered. Just tired.
Benny froze. "Who are you?"
There was a pause, longer than comfort allowed.
"…Does it still show your reflection correctly?"
That wasn't an answer.
"Yes," Benny said carefully. "Why?"
Another pause.
"Then you're early," the voice said. "Or I'm late."
The mirror flickered.
This time, Benny didn't look at it.
His eyes stayed on the phone.
"Are you real?" he asked.
The voice let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
"I used to ask that too."
The calm voice cut in, firmer now.
"This observer is unstable."
"Shut up," the new voice snapped.
The word carried weight.
The room reacted—subtly. The phone's vibration faltered. The camera feed stuttered, lines briefly tearing across the image before snapping back into place.
Benny's heart pounded.
"You can tell it to shut up?" he asked.
"Not safely," the voice replied. "But sometimes safely doesn't matter."
Benny swallowed. "What are you?"
A sigh.
"My name doesn't matter anymore," the voice said. "But I was like you. I saw it. I touched it. I thought it was a glitch."
The nervous voice whispered faintly in the background, too distorted to understand.
The new voice continued, quieter now.
"I didn't listen soon enough."
Benny's grip on the phone tightened.
"Listen to what?"
Silence.
Then—
"Have you let it lose you yet?"
The question sent a chill through him.
"What do you mean?"
The camera feed shifted.
The view zoomed slightly, centering Benny more precisely in frame. Not just his body—but his outline. His position relative to the room.
Like a targeting system correcting itself.
"Answer the question," the voice said. "Carefully."
Benny's breathing grew shallow. "I don't think so."
"Good," the voice replied. "Then you haven't broken it yet."
The calm voice interjected.
"Enough. You are exceeding your permitted—"
"Stop," the voice snapped again. "You don't get to pretend this is controlled."
The phone vibrated sharply.
Frame Integrity: 76%
Benny stared at the number.
"That keeps dropping," he said. "What happens if it hits zero?"
The new voice hesitated.
"When it stops trying to keep you," they said.
Benny frowned. "Keep me what?"
"In view."
The words settled heavily.
Benny glanced, without thinking, toward the edge of the screen—toward the mirror.
The camera feed jittered.
The phone vibrated hard.
The new voice raised their tone.
"Hey—don't do that."
Benny snapped his gaze back to the phone.
The vibration eased.
The number stabilized.
Frame Integrity: 75%
"What did I almost do?" he asked.
The voice didn't answer immediately.
When they did, their tone had changed.
Gone was the sharpness.
Gone was the edge.
Now there was only exhaustion.
"You almost let it search for you," they said.
The calm voice spoke quietly.
"That terminology is inefficient."
The new voice ignored it.
"When it searches," they continued, "it doesn't always find you the same way."
Benny's throat tightened. "What does that mean?"
"It means you come back… wrong."
The mirror flickered.
This time, something moved in it.
Benny didn't look.
The phone warmed in his hand.
The ADJUST VIEWPOINT option dimmed slightly, as if responding to the conversation.
"I didn't press anything," Benny said.
"You don't have to," the new voice replied. "It
adjusts when you drift."
"Drift how?"
The voice hesitated.
"Mentally. Physically. Doesn't matter."
The calm voice interrupted.
"This disclosure is premature."
"And letting him fail isn't?" the new voice shot back. "Because that's what happens next."
Benny's heart pounded. "Fail what?"
Another pause.
Longer.
He felt like he was standing on the edge of something, waiting for the ground to give way.
The new voice spoke softly.
"Rule one," they said.
The calm voice went silent.
"So there are rules," Benny whispered.
"Yes," the voice replied. "But you only learn them when they matter."
Benny swallowed hard. "Then tell me."
A faint static hissed through the speaker.
The voice continued.
"Rule one is simple."
The camera feed tightened again, subtly reframing him.
The phone vibrated once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"Never let the camera lose you."
The words hung in the air.
Nothing exploded.
Nothing screamed.
That made it worse.
"What happens if it does?" Benny asked.
The voice didn't answer right away.
When they did, their voice was barely above a whisper.
"Then you stop being the observer."
Benny's chest tightened. "And become what?"
Silence.
The nervous voice whimpered faintly in the background.
The calm voice finally spoke.
"That information is restricted."
The new voice laughed weakly.
"Of course it is."
Benny shook his head. "I didn't agree to any of this."
"No," the voice said gently. "But you're still in the frame."
The phone vibrated again.
Frame Integrity: 72%
Benny's pulse spiked. "It's still dropping!"
"Yes," the voice replied. "Because now you know what to be afraid of."
The mirror across the room darkened.
Not flickered.
Darkened.
Like something had stepped between it and the light.
Benny felt it—not on his skin, but behind his eyes.
Pressure.
Expectation.
Watching.
The phone vibrated again.
SEARCH INITIATED
Benny's breath hitched.
"I'm still here," he said quickly. "I'm looking. I'm right here!"
The camera feed jittered.
The new voice raised their voice.
"Don't move. Don't turn. Don't blink if you can help it."
The calm voice said nothing.
The phone vibrated again.
The word SEARCHING pulsed faintly.
Benny stared at the screen, terrified to look anywhere else.
"Why is it doing that?" he whispered.
"Because," the new voice said quietly, "you hesitated."
The mirror cracked.
Just a hairline fracture.
But it spread.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like something testing the edges.
Benny's heart felt like it might tear itself out of his chest.
"Help me," he whispered.
The voice answered.
"I am."
The phone vibrated once more.
Then—
The search stopped.
The mirror returned to normal.
The room exhaled.
Frame Integrity: 70%
Benny collapsed back against the wall, gasping.
"I didn't break it," he said shakily.
"No," the voice agreed. "You didn't."
A pause.
"But now you know how close you were."
The calm voice finally spoke again.
"Observation will continue."
The phone screen dimmed slightly.
The ADJUST VIEWPOINT option returned.
Waiting.
Patient.
Hungry.