Chapter 31 The One

Harper didn't tell Jamie about the missing scar.

Not yet.

She wasn't sure what frightened her more: the idea that she was being replaced again, or the possibility that she already had been.

All day, she moved through Bellridge like a shadow of herself—quiet, watching, noting every twitch of movement in the hallways, every reflection that lingered too long in windows.

By the time lunch rolled around, she hadn't touched her food.

"Okay," Jamie said, dropping his tray beside her. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

He narrowed his eyes. "The one where your brain's running a thousand miles a minute and you don't let anyone else in."

Harper opened her mouth to lie.

Stopped.

Then said, "My scar's gone."

Jamie blinked. "What?"

She rolled up her sleeve.

Smooth skin. No trace of the thin, silvery line from last summer's bike crash. It had been a part of her for a year. And now?

Nothing.

Jamie leaned closer, frowning. "No way. That thing was always there."

"I checked the photo we took before the reboot," she said quietly. "The one where we're by the greenhouse. It's there. But now? Not on me. Not in the mirror."

Jamie's expression shifted. "You think the copy survived?"

"I don't know. But something's… wrong."

In the afternoon, the fire alarm went off.

No smoke. No warning. No drill.

Just a single blaring ring that stopped after exactly thirteen seconds.

And in that moment, Harper swore she saw someone pass the far stairwell.

A girl.

With her haircut.

Her posture.

And a red scarf Harper hadn't worn in weeks.

Jamie saw it too. They ran.

But by the time they reached the stairwell—empty.

Except for one thing taped to the wall.

A drawing.

Crude. Sketched in pencil. A girl with blank eyes standing in front of Room 13A. At the bottom, written in jagged block letters:

"She didn't leave. She waited.

That night, Harper and Jamie broke back into the Archives.Just like before.

The door opened too easily—like the school was done trying to keep them out.

Inside, the room was colder than before. The lights flickered in slow, steady pulses. But the files? They were still there.

They dug deeper this time—past the official student records, into the off-limits drawers marked "Obsolete."

They found something Harper hadn't seen before.

HARPER QUINN – SUBJECT LOG B (Version 1.0)

Jamie's hands froze.

"There's a Version A?"

Harper took the file. Inside: psychological summaries, memory loops, observation reports.

And at the end—two signatures.

One: Approved for Simulation: Harper Quinn – Version B

Second: Terminated: Harper Quinn – Version A

But the date?

Two days ago.

"Wait," Jamie whispered. "That can't be you. You're B. You're… the second one."

Harper shook her head. "I wasn't. I've always been A. I had the scar. I remember."

"But… if they terminated A…" Jamie looked at her, voice low. "Who are you now?"

The room buzzed.

Then, from somewhere near the old filing cabinets—a whisper.

"You're not the original anymore."

They spun around.

But no one was there.

Only a mirror on the far wall.

And a single red scarf draped over the edge of the frame.