Reflections, Distorted

The wind had picked up by the time they left the warehouse, sweeping through the empty dockyard in low, mournful gusts. The air smelled of salt and rust, the damp clinging to their clothes as they moved back toward the car. The night felt heavier now, the weight of Mr. Black’s message pressing against Jessica’s ribs.

"What happens when the reflection looks back?"

She turned the white pawn over in her palm, its edges smooth, almost polished. It was absurd how something so small could feel so ominous.

Leanna pulled open the driver’s side door, glancing at Jessica. “Are we going to talk about what just happened in there?”

Jessica didn’t answer right away. She was still listening, half-expecting the sound of those phantom footsteps to follow them out into the night. But the only thing behind them now was the whisper of wind against steel.

She exhaled, slipping the pawn into her coat pocket. “It wasn’t just a message,” she said. “It was a warning.”

Leanna scoffed. “Yeah? And what exactly is he warning you about?”

Jessica stared out at the dark water beyond the docks. The tide was moving in again, slow and steady.

“That I’ve stopped being a participant—and become a liability.”

---

The safe house felt smaller than before, the walls pressing in, thick with unspoken tension. Olivia had spread the remaining documents across the table, her laptop open, fingers moving over the keyboard with methodical precision.

Leanna dropped into the chair across from her, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t like this. That pawn didn’t just appear. Someone put it there, knowing we’d find it.”

Jessica unbuttoned her coat, shrugging it off as she walked toward the table. “That’s the point.”

Olivia glanced up, eyes sharp. “So what, we just keep playing along?”

Jessica picked up one of the old files, scanning the faded print. Project Lazarus. The Hollow Man Trials. Phase II. The words felt heavier now.

“We don’t have a choice,” she murmured.

Olivia’s lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s always a choice.”

Jessica turned the page. Her breath caught.

A photograph had been slipped between the pages. A black-and-white image, grainy, like it had been taken from a security feed. The figure in the picture was blurred, distorted—but the shape of the face was unmistakable.

Jessica.

Her stomach dropped. For a second, she didn’t move. Then her hands started rifling through the pages—fast, unsteady, desperate now More photos. More images of her. Except they weren’t all the same. Some were younger. Some were older. Some weren’t exactly right—a slightly different jawline, a narrower nose, longer hair. But they were all her.

Her pulse pounded against her ribs.

Leanna leaned forward, her expression darkening. “Jess…” Leanna’s voice dropped. “How many of you are there?”

Jessica’s mouth felt dry. “It’s me.”

Olivia shook her head slowly. “No. That’s not you.” She paused, “It’s them.”

---

The night stretched long into silence. Jessica sat alone by the window, the glass fogging slightly from her breath. The photographs lay on the table behind her, untouched since she had put them down. Mr. Black’s words kept looping in her mind. What happens when the reflection looks back?

She wanted to dismiss it as another one of his riddles, another manipulation, but she couldn’t. Because the reflections weren’t just looking back, They were staring. Waiting. And somewhere out there, one of them was still alive.

She reached into her coat, fingers closing around the pawn like a pressure valve. Cold. Smooth. Controlled.Her grip tightened until her knuckles went white. In the window, her reflection gazed back—recognizable, but wrong, like a memory half-remembered. She wondered, not for the first time, if she was only ever the echo of someone else's design.