Chapter 16: The 61st Second

There's something about silence at night. It doesn't feel empty.

It feels full—like it's listening.

Hale lay in bed, eyes open, not blinking. The alarm clock on his nightstand glowed in soft red:

3:10 AM

His room felt... off. Not haunted. Not eerie.

Wrong.

Like reality had been replaced with a near-perfect copy—and someone forgot a detail.

A shadow in the corner that didn't belong.

A hum from the wall that pulsed like breathing.

The cold didn't come from outside anymore. It leaked up from the floorboards.

3:11

He held his breath.

3:12

Nothing.

He exhaled, slowly. Maybe tonight—

Tick.

3:13

Hale sat up. The clock was wrong.

There was no 3:13. Not in this house. Not in this world.

The room shifted. Just slightly. Like the walls took a breath in sync.

And then—

Knock. Knock.

From the inside of his closet.

He didn't move.

Another knock. Slower. Wet.

He stood, legs trembling. The sound came again, this time with something else.

Laughter.

It was muffled. Familiar.

"Barney...?"

No response. But the laughter echoed again—like someone replaying it from memory.

Off rhythm. Glitched.

He opened the closet.

Nothing inside.

Except—

A mirror.

Not his.

It stood upright, old, full-length, like it had been dragged through years. The glass shimmered faintly, as if it remembered other reflections.

Hale looked into it.

His reflection blinked one second too late.

Then smiled.

Not just any smile. Barney's.

Hale stumbled back, and the mirror cracked.

But the crack didn't appear on the glass.

It appeared across his chest—burning like a brand.

He ripped his shirt open.

The mark was changing.

Not just pulsing.

Rewriting itself.

New shapes. New lines. A second curve had formed beside the first. It was starting to look like something.

A language?

A door?

A faint smell reached him—familiar. Dust and lilac. Ivy's scent.

He clutched at the mark, breathing hard.

"Help me."

The words slipped out before he even thought them.

And from the mirror, his reflection whispered back—

"You already asked for this."

He woke up on the floor.

The clock blinked 3:13 again.

Then back to 3:12

Then back to 3:11

It was going backward.

Time was folding. And something was coming through the seam.

Hale stood slowly. His hand went to the sketchbook on the desk.

There was a new page.

Drawn in red ink.

A girl.

Ivy.

Only her face was scratched out.

Underneath it, one word:

"Choose."