"Memory doesn't belong to those who remember, it belongs to the moment that refuses to leave."
The cab was silent. Too silent. London blurred past outside the window, its lights streaking like ghosts on glass. Elias stared down at the mirror, still wrapped in Rae's scarf, lying on the seat between them like a bomb they were too afraid to move.
Neither of them had said a word since they'd left the Institute.
The driver didn't ask questions. Probably used to it.
Rae's hands were folded tight in her lap. Her jaw clenched like she was holding back a storm.
"Say something," Elias finally muttered.
"You were on the screen."
"It wasn't me."
"Then who was it?"
Silence again.
They turned a corner near Fleet Street, the old newspaper district. Elias had once walked this same stretch in the rain, years ago, right after the accident, before the nightmares started, before he gave up teaching, before he stopped believing the world had a center.
That same ache was back now. But sharper. Hungrier.
"I don't know who or what that was," Elias said. "But I know I didn't kill Roe. I was in the courtyard. I was—"
"Smoking," Rae finished. "Yeah. You're always smoking when something goes wrong."
He looked out the window again. In the reflection, the city shimmered. But not him.
Rae didn't notice.
He did.
"He's starting to flicker."
They reached his flat in Clerkenwell. Third floor, above an old bookstore that never opened. The hallway smelled like dust and ink. When they reached his door, he hesitated before unlocking it.
"I want to see the footage again," he said.
Rae nodded once. "I already pulled it."
Inside, Elias tossed his keys on the counter and flicked on the lights. The flat was a blend of order and obsession: shelves full of dusty history books, walls pinned with timelines, clippings, unsolved crimes from centuries apart. Red thread. No answers.
Rae plugged in her tablet and brought up the video.
The hallway feed played in silence. 3:14 PM. The man, Elias, or someone like him, walked calmly toward a staff-only door. No badge. No hesitation. Just walked right through.
She paused it. Zoomed in.
"Look," she said. "That's your coat. Your walk. Even that weird twitch in your left eye when you're concentrating."
Elias stared. His throat tightened.
"I swear to you, Rae… I didn't go near that hallway."
Rae didn't respond. She tapped the screen again. "Watch what he's carrying."
She slowed the playback. The figure turned slightly toward the camera.
In his left hand, barely visible, was the mirror.
But the symbols on it were glowing faintly. In the footage.
Elias leaned closer. "Rewind it ten seconds."
Rae did.
"Pause. There."
She froze the frame.
The mirror glowed red. Then blue. Then back to dull bronze.
"…What is this thing?" Rae whispered.
They both looked at it now, sitting quietly on the table between them, wrapped in that scarf. It wasn't glowing. It looked harmless.
Elias reached for it again. Rae flinched.
He hesitated, then placed one finger on the cold metal.
Nothing happened.
Then—
A flash.
Not light. A sound.
Children screaming. Fire crackling. The scent of smoke and iron.
Elias staggered back.
"What did you see?" Rae asked.
"I—" He blinked. "I think I saw a street burning. A crowd. Soldiers, maybe. But the uniforms weren't modern. It felt… wrong. Like I was remembering something I never lived."
He sat down hard.
Rae watched him for a moment. "This isn't just about Roe anymore, is it?"
"No," Elias said quietly. "It's about me."
They spent the next hour combing through Roe's notes, public ones, posted online before the talk. Most were full of academic jargon, but buried deep in the references was something called Project RELIC.
It was barely a whisper, just a footnote in a forgotten journal from a failed think tank in Geneva.
But it mentioned the mirror. And one phrase caught Elias's eye:
Temporal Echo Syndrome: Subject appears in footage from timelines never experienced. Possible temporal contamination. Memory erosion begins after activation.
Memory erosion.
He felt a chill crawl up his spine.
"Rae," he said, "can you contact Halden?"
"Inspector Kray? You really think he'll talk to you now?"
"He's the only one who still might believe me."
Rae sighed but pulled out her phone.
No signal.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
And then the power flickered.
The lights dimmed for just a second, then returned.
Elias stood slowly. "That wasn't the grid. That was something else."
He turned to the mirror again. But this time, its surface was no longer dull.
It was reflective.
Too reflective.
His face looked wrong in it. Slightly off. As if parts of him had been borrowed from someone else.
He blinked and the face in the mirror didn't.
"It's not the reflection that lies. It's the memory of the one staring back."
The knock on the door was soft. Almost polite.
Rae went for the handle, but Elias stopped her. "Wait."
He moved to the peephole.
No one there.
Another knock.
This time… from the window.
Third floor.
They both turned slowly.
A man stood on the fire escape.
Wearing Elias's face.
Smiling.