The Cycle Breaks

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Jessica could hear the hum of the compound’s security system, the faint mechanical clicks of unseen surveillance cameras adjusting their angles. Somewhere in the building, someone was watching.

They were not intervening because this wasn’t a trap. It was a meeting.

Mr. Black stood across from her, hands in his pockets, the picture of calm detachment. His black suit was deliberately immaculate, as if he had stepped out of a world untouched by time.

Jessica didn’t lower her gun. She had killed him once. She could do it again.

“You don’t look surprised to see me,” she said.

Mr. Black exhaled through his nose, something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I knew you’d find me eventually.”

Jessica tilted her head. “Is that why you had me erased? Thought you could reset the game before I caught up?”

His eyes gleamed in the low light. “Jessica, you erased yourself.”

She went still. For a split second, the world felt off-balance. The words weren’t a lie. She could feel it. There was a sliver of recognition at the edge of her thoughts, and something inside her knew he was right.

Jessica inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “Why?”

Mr. Black studied her. Then, with an ease that sent a chill through her bones, he turned his back to her. He walked toward a locked cabinet near the desk, entering a code with muscle memory. The lock disengaged with a quiet hiss, and he pulled out a file.

A physical file. No digital records. No traceable footprint. He held it up between two fingers.

Jessica watched him carefully.

“You don’t trust me,” he said.

Jessica smirked. “You faked your death and had a kill team hunt me down. Forgive me for being skeptical.”

He shook his head. “They weren’t there to kill you, Jessica. They were there to contain you.”

Jessica’s grip tightened on the gun. “Contain me for what?”

Mr. Black turned, his expression unreadable.

“Because you were waking up.”

Something icy and unfamiliar slid down her spine. Jessica kept her face neutral, but the words dug in deep. Because she had felt it. The dreams. The visions. The memories that didn’t belong to her.

Mr. Black extended the folder. “Take it.”

Jessica hesitated. Then, in one smooth motion, she lowered the gun and snatched the file from his hands.

She flipped it open. The first thing she saw was a list of names. Names spanning centuries. Some written in Latin. Some in French. Some in Arabic. And then, near the bottom, a name she recognized. Jessica Sanchez.

Her breath hitched. The date next to it: 1992. Her birth year. She turned the page, scanning the text. The words blurred together, fragmented phrases jumping out at her.

“The Vessel must not awaken before the appointed time.”

“A new name, a new body, but the memory must be preserved.”

“If the cycle breaks, the knowledge is lost.”

Her vision tunneled.

She flipped faster, trying to make sense of it, trying to find something that explained what the hell she was looking at. Then, at the very back, she found it. A single page. Burned along the edges, charred like something ripped from a fire. It wasn’t typed. It was handwritten. In her own handwriting.

Jessica’s throat went dry. She read the first line.

“If you’re reading this, you weren’t supposed to remember.”

The world tilted beneath her feet. Jessica closed the file, pressing her fingers against her temples. She had written that. Not today. Not yesterday. But before.

She swallowed hard. “What is this?”

Mr. Black’s voice was quiet. “The last time you woke up, you didn’t like what you found.”

Jessica looked up sharply. “And?”

He held her gaze. “So you erased yourself.”

Her pulse thundered. She wanted to deny it. Wanted to say it was impossible. But the proof was in her hands. She had done this before. And now, for some reason the cycle has broken. She was remembering again. And whatever had terrified her enough to wipe her own existence was still inside her. Waiting.

Jessica forced a slow breath. “What did I remember?”

Mr. Black studied her. Then, for the first time in all the years she had known him, she saw something she had never seen before. Something that looked almost like hesitation.

Then, quietly, he said: “The Second Coming.”