I woke up standing.
Not lying down.Not in a bed.Just… standing.
In the hallway.
Facing a mirror I didn't remember hanging.
My reflection smiled.
I didn't.
I took a shaky breath.
"What day is it?" I asked Echo, who stood behind me.
"The 9th," he replied.
"You lost time again."
Again.
I hated that word.
Like this was routine.
Like blacking out and being somewhere else was now part of my morning schedule.
I rubbed my temple.
There were gaps.
Big ones.
I remembered the Whisper Ledger.The phone.The truth I gave.The vow I made.
And then… static.
Echo held out a torn note.
I recognized the handwriting.
Mine.
It read:
"If you're reading this, the other me is awake."
"Watch him. He smiles too easily."
"He doesn't blink enough."
"He remembers things you don't."
I swallowed hard.
"So… I'm splitting?"
"More like being overwritten," Echo said.
"Your consciousness is forking. Duplicating."
"One version clings to who you were."
"The other… evolves with the lease."
The lease.
That damn contract.
More than paper. It was becoming a soul.
A force.
A gravity that twisted identity into submission.
Echo guided me to the apartment's central room—what used to be the living room, now a makeshift interior maze.
The walls had changed again.
More mirrors. No exits.
Just a hallway that looped endlessly.
I saw myself in every direction.
And one of the reflections?
Didn't move when I did.
It just stood there, smiling faintly.
Its hand slowly rising on its own.
Then pressing against the glass.
Mouthing something.
I stepped closer.
It mouthed the words again.
"Let me finish becoming you."
Echo grabbed my shoulder.
"Don't engage it."
"That's Chapter Zero."
"The version of you that the apartment is curating."
"Every time you forget something, it absorbs the memory."
"Every lie you told yourself—it fed him."
I backed away from the mirror.
But the reflection stayed where it was.
Still smiling.
Still waiting.
"What do I do?" I whispered.
"Choose which version gets to exist."
"You… or the version that accepted the full haunting."
"There can't be two."
"This apartment doesn't allow redundancy."
The lights flickered.
Somewhere deep in the walls, I heard whispers.
Not English.
Not language.
Just tone—mocking, jealous, triumphant.
Echo handed me a silver shard.
Another piece of the Vault mirror.
It glowed faintly now.
"Use this to sever memory threads."
"If you can isolate the ones he doesn't have, you keep them."
"And weaken him."
I held the shard tight and closed my eyes.
Images surged:
My first night here.
The leaky faucet.
Echo's first warning.
The red door.
The call from the dead version of me.
The burn from signing the lease.
Then—
Something fought back.
Like a current under the memories.
Trying to pull them into the mirror.
Trying to eat them.
"No," I growled.
"I remember."
And I jammed the shard into the image of the red door.
The mirror cracked.
Screamed.
And the fake reflection in the real-world mirror?
It blinked for the first time.
And bled.
Black liquid ran down the inside of the glass like it was weeping ink.
Echo's voice was calm but urgent.
"Good. That weakened him."
"You've got one more move."
"You must say the memory he can't own."
"Speak it into the apartment."
"Out loud."
I nodded.
Took a deep breath.
And with every ounce of certainty I had left, I said:
"I came here to escape myself."
"But I found out I was never alone."
"The haunted one was always me."
The room shuddered.
Mirrors cracked.
Lights blew.
The false reflection screamed—a sound like glass being ground into teeth.
Then—
It vanished.
Gone.
Like a breath exhaled too hard.
And then…
I heard my own voice again.
From my mouth.
No mirror shard needed.
I was back.
Fully.
Echo exhaled.
"He's not gone."
"But he's dormant."
"For now, the lease has chosen you."
I felt the change instantly.
The apartment stopped humming.
The walls settled.
And in that moment, I wasn't scared.
I was whole.
Broken still—but completely broken.
No longer split.
Just scarred.
But mine.
Echo held out a small, strange object.
A key.
But not to a door.
To a file cabinet.
"Last room you need to see."
"The Cabinet of Compromise."
"Where former tenants filed the parts they gave up."
I took it without hesitation.
If I had come this far, I wasn't turning away now.
Even if what I found in that cabinet was a death certificate with my name.
Because at least it would be the right name.
Mine.