The Name Repeated

The deeper levels of the Vatican Archives felt forgotten by time.

The frescoed ceilings and polished marble of the upper halls had vanished, replaced by rough-hewn stone, thick iron doors, and endless rows of towering shelves packed with manuscripts that hadn’t seen daylight in centuries.

Jessica moved carefully, footsteps soundless against the cold stone. The air was thick with dust and something heavier—the kind of silence that didn’t just belong to a library, but to a tomb.

She had minutes, maybe less.

Her fingers trailed over handwritten catalog markings, Latin inscriptions worn by time but still legible. Then she saw it. A shelf labeled “Ritus Templi: Sensus et Memoria.” The Rituals of the Templars: Mind and Memory.

Jessica pulled down the first volume, flipping through the brittle pages with quick, practiced precision. And then she saw it, her name.

Jessica Sanchez.    Written in medieval Latin, dated 1391.

Her breath caught. She turned the page, and found it again. A different entry. Different year. Same name. Her hands tightened around the fragile parchment.

1415. 1592. 1740. 1784. 1857. 1923.

Eight documents. All bearing her name. This had to be iImpossible. Her pulse pounded against her ribs, her breathing shallow. This wasn’t just a coincidence. This wasn’t just a mistake. Someone had been tracking her across centuries. Her name had been written before she ever existed.

Jessica exhaled sharply. She had wasted too much time already. She needed to go. She pulled out her phone, snapping quick, precise photographs of each page, capturing the text, the seals, the insignias that marked them as authentic.

Then, carefully, she placed them back. If she took them, someone would know. And someone was already watching. She turned. It was time to leave.

* * *

She moved quickly, retracing her steps, but her mind refused to quiet. Eight records. Eight lifetimes. But she had only ever been one person. Hadn’t she?

Jessica swallowed, fingers tightening around her phone as she climbed the stone steps leading back to the upper levels. What if she wasn’t the first Jessica Sanchez? What if she wasn’t Jessica Sanchez at all? The thought crawled under her skin.

She had spent years chasing the truth of who she was. She had fought, bled, nearly died to unravel the lies Vanguard had built around her. She thought she had made peace with the answer. But this, this was something else. Something older. Something she wasn’t ready for.

She pressed a hand to the cold stone wall of the stairwell, steadying herself. She was still Jessica. Wasn’t she?

* * *

When she reached the upper level, Father Allegrini was exactly where she had left him. Sitting at the same table, reading from the same book, as if he had never moved.

Jessica approached, pulling out the chair across from him. He looked up, and this time, he didn’t seem surprised to see her.

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

Jessica hesitated. Then softly, “I don’t know.”

She set her phone down on the table, screen still lit with the images she had taken below. Allegrini glanced at them, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he closed his book. “You are troubled.”

Jessica let out a slow breath. “You could say that.”

A pause. Then she met his gaze. “Father, do you believe in the soul?”

Allegrini’s lips pressed into a thin line. “The soul is the essence of our being. It is not simply memory or thought, but something eternal, something that transcends the body.”

Jessica exhaled, fingers tapping lightly against the table, “And what if the body changes? What if the memories change? Is the soul still the same?”

Allegrini studied her. “Are you asking if you have a soul?”

Jessica hesitated, Then she said, “No. I’m asking if it matters.”

A flicker of something in his gaze. Not surprise. Not judgment, but recognition.

Jessica leaned in. “I’ve read Sartre. Camus. Nietzsche. They would tell you the soul is an illusion. That we exist first, and only later do we define what we are.” She tapped the phone screen lightly. “But what if the definition keeps changing? What if I was written down centuries before I was even born? Was I ever really free? Or was I always meant to end up here?”

Allegrini exhaled, folding his hands over his book. “You are speaking of fate.”

Jessica shook her head. “I’m speaking of control. If someone could rewrite me? If they could change who I am, then am I even real? Or am I just an idea someone keeps reshaping?”

There was a long silence. Then Allegrini said, “The soul is not simply the sum of its experiences. It is the capacity for choice. Even in suffering. Even in doubt.”

Jessica let that settle.

Allegrini continued. “Perhaps your name has been written before. Perhaps someone has tried to define you. But you are here, now. And that means the choice is yours.”

Jessica sat back. The weight of it all pressed against her ribs. She had spent her entire life trying to uncover what she was. But maybe that was the wrong question. Maybe it had never been about what. Maybe it had always been about who.

She exhaled slowly, fingers curling around her phone. She had the records. She had the proof, but she still didn’t have an answer. And she wasn’t sure if she ever would.

* * *

Jessica left the archives, her thoughts still tangled. Then she heard the argument. She slowed her pace, gaze flicking toward the main entrance. A man stood at the security desk, frustration etched across his face. An American scholar, mid-forties, glasses, professional but slightly disheveled.

Jessica’s stomach went cold. Dr. Adam Fischer. The same name she had used to enter. The guards weren’t budging.

“I don’t understand,” the man was saying, his accent crisp and academic. “You’re telling me I’m already inside?”

One of the guards nodded, tapping at the screen in front of him. “Your credentials were scanned an hour ago, Dr. Fischer.”

Jessica’s fingers curled into a fist. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Olivia’s clearance should have wiped the logs. The forgery should have been airtight. Which meant someone had restored them. Someone knew she was here.

Jessica exhaled sharply, forcing herself to keep walking, to blend into the background as she slipped past the Vatican gates. She had the documents, but she wasn’t the only one who had been looking.

Someone else had set this up, and now, they were already ahead of her.