Mira hadn't meant to overhear anything. She truly hadn't.
She had only been following the faint flicker of lamplight leaking from the archive room — a place strictly restricted after dusk. She wanted to slip inside, grab her notebook that she'd forgotten during the chaos of earlier… and leave before anyone noticed.
But the moment her fingers brushed the cold brass handle, she heard it.
A voice inside — tense, hushed, dangerously close to breaking.
"…she's getting too close."
Mira froze, air catching in her throat. Her first instinct was to back away. But curiosity — that restless, overpowering instinct that had been clawing at her ever since she saw the red door — forced her to stay.
There was a pause. A shift of weight. The rustle of documents.
Then a second voice, smooth and terrifyingly calm, answered:
"Let her."
The first man seemed startled. "Let her? Are you serious right now? After what happened earlier?"
"Yes."
A scrape of a chair. "Curiosity is part of her design."
The word design hit Mira like a physical blow.
She pressed her palms against the cool wood of the door, breath trembling. Design. It wasn't a word people used for other people. It was for machines, constructs, artifacts — things built with intention.
And it was being used about her.
Her mind flashed to the vision — the red door's burning symbol, the impossible whisper she'd heard inside her skull, the way her pulse had synced with that unnatural hum. She had felt something unlock inside her, something she had no words for.
But hearing them say it…
Hearing strangers talk about her like she was some kind of blueprint —
The fear that had been simmering for days spiked into something raw and electric.
Inside, the panicked voice hissed again.
"If she accesses the Deep Vault, the echoes will multiply. You know what happens then."
"Yes," the calm one said. "I do."
A pause. A long exhale.
"And that's exactly why we need to watch her — not stop her."
Before Mira could process that, a chair scraped loudly. Footsteps moved toward the door.
She jerked back as the handle turned.
Her heart leapt into her throat. She darted behind the nearest towering shelf, pressing herself into the shadows. The wooden planks dug into her shoulder, but she didn't dare breathe.
The door creaked open.
Light spilled into the hallway in a thin, bright line.
A silhouette stepped out — tall, composed, familiar.
Archivist Rowan.
His presence always carried a calm sharpness, like he saw everything but said nothing unless necessary. His eyes scanned the hallway, pupils narrowing as if sensing something out of place.
Mira held her breath until her lungs burned. Rowan stood there for a full five seconds — long enough that Mira's heartbeat felt like it might give her away.
Then the second man emerged behind him.
Mira saw only a sliver of his profile.
And her stomach dropped.
She had seen that face before.
Not in person.
Not in any file.
But in the reflection of the red door — the distorted glass surface that had shown something she'd assumed was a hallucination. A shadowy figure standing behind her even though she had been alone.
Now he was real.
And he wasn't supposed to exist.
The two men spoke quietly, their voices drifting just enough for Mira to catch fragments.
"…monitor her condition…"
"…if she destabilizes…"
"…the echoes… unpredictable…"
Rowan finally nodded. "I'll handle it."
They moved down the corridor, their footsteps fading into the labyrinth of shelves.
Only when the echoes completely died did Mira dare to breathe again.
She slumped against the shelf, shaking hard.
Her design.
Deep Vault.
Echoes multiplying.
Destabilizing.
None of those words belonged to a normal life.
None of this had been part of her world even a week ago.
She pressed her fingers to her temple, willing the rising panic to settle. But the moment her mind steadied even slightly, something else happened.
A faint vibration passed through the floor.
Then — a whisper.
Soft but unmistakable.
"Mira…"
She stiffened.
The sound wasn't coming from the corridor or from the archive room.
It came from deeper inside the shelves — the dark, silent depths of the restricted stacks.
Her pulse hammered.
"No," she whispered to herself. "Not again."
But the whisper came again — clearer this time, almost gentle.
"Mira… come back…"
She took one involuntary step toward the voice.
The air around her shifted, colder yet somehow pulling her forward. Goosebumps raced down her arms. It was the same sensation she'd felt near the red door — that eerie tug like something was reaching for her from the other side of reality.
But this time, it wasn't overwhelming. It wasn't forcing itself into her mind.
It was… calling her.
Softly.
Mira shook her head hard.
"No. I'm not falling for this. I'm not—"
A sudden clang of metal echoed through the hallway.
She nearly screamed.
From the darkness ahead, a figure stumbled out — small, flustered, clutching a stack of scrolls to their chest.
"Ah—! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean— Mira?" the person squeaked.
It was Eli, the junior archivist, eyes wide behind round glasses.
Mira's entire body sagged with relief.
"Eli… what are you doing here?"
Eli pushed up their slipping glasses, face flushed.
"I could ask you the same thing! This section is off-limits after closing."
Mira opened her mouth. Closed it.
There was no explanation that wouldn't sound insane.
Eli's eyes flicked to the shadows behind Mira.
"Were you… talking to someone?"
"No," Mira said quickly.
A lie. A bad one.
But Eli didn't push — they just looked worried.
"Are you okay? You look really pale."
"I'm fine," Mira lied again. "Just… tired."
Eli's worry deepened.
"If Rowan sees you here, he'll—"
"I know," Mira interrupted. "I'll leave."
But as she stepped forward, a sharp, sudden pulse shot through her skull.
Not pain — more like a signal.
Her knees wobbled.
Eli lunged to support her.
"Mira?!"
"I'm fine," she whispered. "I just… need a minute."
Eli helped her sit on a low wooden crate. Mira rubbed her forehead, willing the buzzing sensation to fade.
It didn't.
It grew stronger.
It felt like something inside her was syncing — matching rhythm with something she couldn't see.
Then, in a flash, an image appeared in her mind.
Not a vision.
Not a hallucination.
A map.
A map of the archives — corridors, dead ends, restricted vaults — all glowing faintly like lines drawn by light.
And one location pulsed.
Hidden. Deep. Almost buried under protective layers.
The Deep Vault.
Her breath hitched.
She didn't know how she knew. She just did.
"Mira?" Eli asked softly. "What's wrong?"
Mira looked up slowly.
"Eli… do you know anything about the Deep Vault?"
Eli froze.
Their cheeks drained of color.
Their grip on the scrolls tightened.
"I… Mira, that place is not… it's dangerous. We aren't even allowed to talk about it. Why would you—"
"Please," Mira whispered. "I need to know."
Eli hesitated — torn, frightened, eyes darting like someone might be listening.
"Mira… the Deep Vault is sealed for a reason. It holds echoes that shouldn't exist."
Echoes.
The same word the men had used.
"What kind of echoes?" Mira pressed.
Eli swallowed.
"The kind that change people."
Mira stared.
"Change them how?"
Eli's voice lowered to a whisper, barely audible.
"Forever."
A chill slid down Mira's spine.
Before she could ask more, hurried footsteps echoed at the far end of the hallway.
Eli tensed. "Hide."
Mira didn't question. She moved between two tall shelves as Rowan's voice drifted closer.
"…she was in this section. I sensed it."
Mira's blood ran cold.
Eli stepped forward nervously. "Archivist Rowan! I didn't expect you here this late."
"Have you seen Mira?" Rowan asked bluntly.
Eli shook their head, too quickly.
"N-no. I've only been organizing documents."
Rowan studied them for a long moment, his eyes sharp and searching.
Then he turned his head slightly — toward Mira's hiding place.
She held her breath as the seconds stretched painfully.
Finally, Rowan spoke in a quiet, unsettling tone:
"If you see her… tell her the red door isn't done with her yet."
Mira's heart slammed once — hard — like it wanted to escape her chest.
Rowan walked away, each step echoing ominously.
Eli turned toward Mira's hiding place, expression stricken.
"Mira… what's happening to you?"
Mira stepped out slowly, voice trembling but determined.
"I think… the archives know me better than I know myself."
Eli's breath caught.
"Mira, that's not possible. The archives don't—"
"Yes," Mira said. "They do. And someone designed it… with me in mind."
Eli stared at her, horrified.
"Mira… that means you're not just connected to the archives."
A long pause.
"It means the archives are connected to you."