CHAPTER FOUR
A week had passed since Amber's disappearance, and the investigations had all but subsided. The reports listed her as missing, her family had moved away, and life in our small town returned to its usual rhythm. But Chloe and I knew the truth—something far darker than anyone could imagine.
As I walked through the quiet streets, a strange feeling gnawed at me. It was as if I were being watched. I turned around several times, scanning the empty sidewalks and shadows, but no one was there. The unease lingered as I sat on a bench, staring blankly at the Time Drifters advertisement playing repeatedly on the large screen above.
A cheerful family strolled past me, their voices pulling me back to reality.
"Daddy, when can I have one of those time thingies?" the little girl asked, pointing at the screen.
"Not now, sweetheart. Maybe one day. Hopefully, we’ll already be rich by then," her father replied with a chuckle.
They disappeared down the street as I stood up, shaking off the unease, and headed home. The steps to my porch creaked underfoot, and I entered the house, greeted by the muffled sound of my parents watching the news. I slipped into my room, collapsed onto my bed, and stared at the ceiling.
My mind wouldn’t rest. Amber’s murder. Time bending in impossible ways. My guilt for leaving Chloe alone for five years. The thoughts swirled in a relentless storm until sleep finally pulled me under.
In the depths of my slumber, the spinning thoughts turned vivid. Fragments of memories and fears collided. Time twisted and folded. Then, amidst the chaos, I felt something shift. Footsteps. Soft, deliberate, and growing louder.
I jolted awake, my breath catching in my throat. The room was silent, but the footsteps stopped beside me. Slowly, I turned—and froze.
A silhouette loomed over my bed, a knife glinting in the dim light. My pulse thundered in my ears as the figure lunged. I rolled away just in time, the blade tearing into the mattress instead of me. My heart sank as I saw the face of my attacker.
It was me.
I stared at her, stunned, as she stood over me—a perfect reflection, down to the smallest detail. Her expression was eerily calm, but her eyes burned with grim determination.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice my own. "I have to do this. It’s the only way to save the future. It’s best for both of us."
She raised the knife again, and I grabbed her wrist, stopping her mid-swing. The moment our skin touched, an unbearable heat surged through me. Sparks erupted where our hands connected, and a searing pain tore through my arm.
It felt as though we were fusing—two forces colliding, resisting, and threatening to rip apart reality itself. Memories that weren’t mine flashed through my mind—fragmented glimpses of another life, another me.
We both screamed as the energy built, swirling into an unstable vortex. The air crackled and burned as a powerful shockwave erupted, slamming me into the floor.
And then, nothing.
Darkness enveloped me, but as consciousness faded, her voice echoed in my mind:
"This is only the beginning."
