The key to the past

Elena couldn't move. The words blurred on the page, her own name staring back at her, tied to a date that didn't make sense.

Reborn.

Her skin prickled. "That's not possible."

They didn't look away. "Neither is a death certificate for someone who's still breathing."

Her breath came short, uneven. "No. No, this—this is a mistake. A lie. Something—"

She didn't know how to finish the sentence.

Because deep down, she wasn't sure it was a lie.

She thought back to that night. To the fragments of memory she could never quite piece together. The way she had woken up after it all, disoriented, like she had stepped into a version of her life that wasn't quite right.

The things that had changed.

The things that didn't add up.

The way she had always felt like something was… off.

Her fingers tightened over the paper. "You said we need to find out what happened to me." She met their gaze, heart pounding. "Where do we start?"

They pushed the file aside, reaching into their coat pocket. "With this."

A small object landed on the table between them.

Elena's stomach turned to ice.

It was a key. Rusted, worn. But she recognized it instantly.

She had carried that key every day. Kept it in her pocket, always within reach.

Until the night everything changed.

She had lost it.

No—it had been taken from her.

Elena swallowed. "Where did you get this?"

They hesitated, then: "Someone left it for me. Same way they left the file."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

Elena stared at the key, her heart hammering.

She thought she had escaped that night. Thought she had moved on.

But now, she wasn't sure she had ever really left it behind.

She reached for the key, the cold metal pressing against her palm like a pulse.

There was only one way to get answers.

She had to go back.

Back to where it all started.

The Door That Shouldn't Exist

Elena stood outside the building, the key heavy in her pocket.

The rain had slowed to a thin mist, blurring the neon reflections on the slick pavement. The city was never truly quiet, but in this moment, everything felt still—like the world was holding its breath.

She hadn't been here in years.

The last time, she had left in a daze, blood on her hands, memories fractured and incomplete.

And yet, standing here now, she wasn't sure if she had ever really left.

She reached the door.

It was the same as she remembered—heavy, industrial, a worn-out keypad just below the handle. A place that didn't exist on any official records.

Her fingers hovered over the key, her pulse an unsteady rhythm in her throat.

Then, before she could second-guess herself, she slid the key into the lock and turned it.

The door clicked open.

A rush of cold air hit her as she stepped inside.

The hallway was dark, the overhead lights flickering weakly. The air smelled of dust and something metallic, something stale and forgotten.

It was exactly the same.

Every instinct told her to turn back.

Instead, she kept walking.

The deeper she went, the stronger the feeling grew—that sensation of something pressing against the edges of her mind, like a memory trying to force itself back into place.

She reached the end of the hall.

A single room. The door slightly ajar.

Elena pushed it open.

The lights inside buzzed weakly, casting long shadows over the rows of metal cabinets, the stacks of old files, the dust-covered monitors that hadn't been touched in years.

And then—footsteps.

Not hers.

Elena froze.

A shadow moved in the corner of the room.

Someone else was here.

Her breath hitched as the figure stepped into the dim light.

She saw the outline of a coat. A familiar stance.

Then the light caught their face.

And Elena's heart stopped.

It was her.

The Other Elena

Elena's entire body locked up.

The woman standing across the room wasn't just similar to her. She wasn't a lookalike, a trick of the light.

She was identical.

Same face. Same height. Same scars.

It was like staring into a mirror—but mirrors didn't breathe. Mirrors didn't look back with recognition.

Elena's throat went dry. "What the hell is this?"

The other her didn't flinch. Didn't speak.

She just tilted her head slightly, as if she were the one trying to make sense of things.

Elena's pulse pounded. This wasn't possible. It couldn't be.

Yet deep down, something in her had always felt off since that night. The missing memories. The way time itself seemed to have split around her.

And now, standing in front of her, was the proof.

The other Elena finally spoke.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Elena's breath came shallow and quick. "Neither are you."

A flicker of something—understanding, regret, fear—passed across the other's face.

Then, before Elena could react, the other her moved.

Fast. Too fast.

A blur of motion, a flash of something silver in her hand—

Elena barely dodged in time.

She stumbled back as a blade sliced through the air where she'd been standing. The other Elena didn't hesitate. She lunged again, movements precise, practiced—like she'd done this before.

Elena's back hit a desk. Her hands scrambled for something—anything—to defend herself.

Her fingers closed around a rusted metal lamp.

She swung.

The impact sent the other Elena staggering back, just enough for Elena to dart for the door.

Footsteps pounded behind her.

She didn't look back.

She just ran.

Out of the archive. Down the hall. Through the door she had just unlocked—

And then she was outside.

The cold air hit her like a slap.

The city lights stretched before her, ordinary and indifferent. Cars passed by, people moved, life continued like nothing had happened.

But something had.

And Elena had only one thought as she gasped for breath, heart hammering in her chest.

If I'm still alive…

Then who the hell is she?