The inside of the house smelled like old paper and cold air. Not dusty—just… untouched.
As if time had stopped here.
Ash stepped in first, slow and alert. Palo followed, staying close behind him.
The floorboards creaked softly under their weight.
Palo whispered, "Ash… when was the last time anyone used this place?"
Ash didn't take his eyes off the hallway ahead.
"My mother came here years ago," he said. "Before she disappeared."
Palo's breath caught. "You never told me she… disappeared."
Ash flinched at the word, like it hit something raw inside him.
"She told me to run. And when I came back the next day, she was gone."
Palo felt a knot tighten in his chest, a protective ache.
"Ash… I'm sorry."
Ash didn't answer. He moved deeper into the house, scanning every doorway.
---
Footprints in the Dust
They reached the living room. Faint moonlight slipped through broken blinds, illuminating the floor.
Palo froze.
"Ash… look."
On the floor, the dust had been disturbed — several clear footprints leading from the front door to the old wooden table.
But only one pair.
Ash's voice was low. "Someone was here recently."
Palo looked around, every muscle tense. "Do you think it was… the man from the greenhouse?"
Ash studied the footprints. "These are too small. His boots would've left deeper impressions."
"So who—"
Before Palo could finish, Ash's gaze landed on an object on the table.
A small cassette recorder.
Old.
Black.
With a single tape inside.
A piece of paper was taped to it.
Palo stepped closer. "Ash… is that addressed to—"
Ash lifted the paper.
Two words were written on it in shaky handwriting.
FOR ASH.
Palo felt the air leave his lungs. "Ash… someone knows your name."
Ash's fingers trembled — barely, but enough for Palo to notice. He removed the tape slowly, like touching something dangerous.
"I haven't seen one of these since I was a kid," Ash murmured.
"Maybe your mother left it?" Palo whispered hopefully.
Ash didn't answer immediately. His voice was strained.
"Or someone who knew her."
---
The Tape
Ash set the recorder down and pressed PLAY.
For a moment, there was only static.
Then a woman's voice broke through — trembling, breathless, fearful.
"Ash… if you're hearing this—then he found you."
Palo's body went rigid.
Ash's hand tightened around the edge of the table.
The woman continued, voice cracking:
"He's not the only danger. The archives are waking up again. They remember you. And they want what was taken."
Palo's heart pounded.
Ash stared at the recorder, barely breathing.
The woman inhaled shakily.
"Ash… you have to stay away from your past. Do not let it follow you. It will not stop until—"
The tape cut to static.
Then—
A second voice.
Not the woman.
Not human.
A distorted whisper, echoing as if underwater:
"Subject Eleven."
Palo felt his entire body go cold.
"Ash… that's what the file called you."
Ash swallowed hard.
The whisper repeated, louder this time:
"Subject—Eleven."
Then the tape clicked and stopped.
Silence swallowed the room.
Palo whispered, "Ash… what does that mean?"
Ash didn't move. His expression had gone pale, stunned, almost hollow.
"They weren't just studying me," he said quietly. "They were keeping me."
Palo shook his head. "Ash… that can't be true."
Ash stepped back, gripping the edge of the table.
"They labeled me. Monitored me. Archived me."
He looked at Palo, eyes dark with something like fear.
"They didn't just observe my childhood, Palo. They owned it."
---
An Unwelcome Presence
A sudden thud echoed through the house.
Both boys jerked toward the hallway.
Another thud.
Closer.
Slow.
Heavy.
Palo's voice trembled. "Ash… someone's inside."
Ash motioned him behind the table. "Hide. Now."
Palo crouched, heart racing.
Ash positioned himself near the doorway, silent, tense, ready.
The footsteps approached the living room.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Palo held his breath.
The steps stopped just outside the doorway.
Ash clenched his jaw.
"Who's there?" he called out.
Silence.
Then—
A soft scraping sound.
Something sliding along the wall.
Not walking.
Dragging.
Palo's skin crawled.
"Ash," he whispered, voice breaking, "that's not footsteps…"
Ash nodded without looking back.
"I know."
The dragging sound drew closer.
Closer.
Then—
It stopped.
Ash took a single step forward, eyes narrowed.
"Show yourself."
For a long moment, nothing moved.
Then a small piece of paper slid across the floor from the hallway, pushed by something unseen.
It stopped at Ash's feet.
He picked it up slowly.
Palo whispered, "What does it say?"
Ash turned the paper over.
A single sentence was written there, in the same shaky handwriting from the tape:
"Do not trust the boy who looks like you."
Palo felt panic spike in his chest.
"Ash… that means—"
Ash closed his eyes, voice dropping to a whisper.
"The version of me we saw… it's not finished."