Jonas listened to the message again.
And again.
Each time, the fear in his voice became more familiar.
"This house isn't your home. And she"
Cut off. Static. No matter how gently he pressed rewind or adjusted the volume, it always ended in the same sudden nothing.
He stared at the recorder, breath shallow.
The worst part wasn't the message.
It was how right it felt.
He tucked the recorder beneath the mattress, burying it in the gap between foam and frame. Then he opened the journal and began flipping through entries with new urgency. His eyes darting across the ink-scrawled pages, desperate for truth.
Day 88: She says we're in love. I've never felt less safe.
Day 89: I heard her on the phone. She was crying. She said: "He can't find out. Not yet."
Day 90: I think someone comes into the room at night. There's dust missing near the bed. How do I even know what dust looked like before?
Jonas closed the notebook and leaned back against the wall. The silence in the house felt louder now. Each breath. Each creak of the floorboards.
And then, a soft knock.
"Jonas?" Mara's voice again, muffled by the door. "You've been quiet."
He hesitated, then got up and opened the door partway.
Mara stood there, hands tucked into her sweater sleeves. She smiled, but her eyes moved quickly searching the room behind him.
"I was going to take you for a walk. Just around the yard. It's a nice day."
Jonas nodded, masking the tremor in his chest. "Sure. Let me just grab my jacket."
As he turned, he saw her eyes flicker to the bed for just a second.
Not at the journal.
At the mattress.
She knows.
He forced a neutral expression and grabbed the coat draped over the chair. As he slipped it on, he slipped the journal into the inside pocket without letting her see.
The front door let out a dull groan as they stepped outside.
The sun was warm, but it didn't feel real. Too bright, too still. Even the birdsong felt placed, like background noise added after the fact.
"Is this neighborhood always so quiet?" he asked.
Mara chuckled. "It's peaceful. That's why we moved here."
Jonas glanced at the street. No cars. No people. Just rows of identical houses, the kind that looked like models in a showroom.
"How far is the nearest town?" he asked.
"About ten minutes by car," she answered smoothly. "We don't go often. You said it overwhelms you."
"Convenient," Jonas muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing." He smiled thinly. "Nice weather."
They walked in silence. Every step made Jonas more certain: he wasn't just being cared for. He was being managed. Caged.
Back inside, Mara offered him tea. Jonas declined and excused himself to the bathroom.
He locked the door, lifted the toilet tank lid, and checked inside.
Empty.
But behind the mirror, taped just beneath the cabinet lip, he found a folded slip of paper.
"She's not alone. Check the basement. Trust no one until you see the blue room."
There was no signature. Just those words, written in the same jagged handwriting as the journal.
Jonas stared at the note, a chill crawling down his spine.
Basement.
He hadn't even known the house had one.
A knock on the door broke his thoughts.
"Everything okay in there?" Mara again.
Jonas flushed the toilet to make it seem normal. "Fine. Just thinking."
"You're always thinking," she said through the door. "Just don't get lost in it."
He waited until he heard her walk away before slipping the note into his sock.
Basement??
Blue room??
She's not alone??
Whatever was happening, whatever his past self had pieced together before the memory resets. It was more than just paranoia.
It was a warning.
And he was running out of time to listen to it.