Chapter 3 — Messages from Nowhere

Clara

The Precision Watch on my wrist ticked its usual infallible rhythm, a sharp contrast to the faint hum of the city that seeped through my apartment’s floor-to-ceiling windows. The world outside was a mosaic of glinting glass and cold steel, orderly and predictable. Inside, however, something felt... wrong. It had been lingering for days now, a faint vibration at the edge of my thoughts, threatening to spill over.

Evan’s voice from the kitchen broke the fragile calm, casual but tinged with something I couldn’t quite name. “You canceled dinner on me last night. Again.”

“What?” I blinked, my focus snapping back to the room. My untouched mug of coffee had long gone cold in my hands. I turned toward him, frowning. “I didn’t cancel anything.”

Evan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. His sandy blonde hair caught the pale morning light, but his blue eyes, usually warm, were steady and searching now. “You texted me, Clara. Said you’d be working late.”

A cold knot twisted in my stomach. “I didn’t text you.”

He pulled out his phone, scrolling purposefully before holding it out to me. “‘Work emergency. Can’t make dinner. Raincheck?’” he read aloud. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

The message was there, clear as day. My name sat at the top of the thread, and the clipped, professional wording was unmistakably mine. Except—I hadn’t sent it. I was certain of that.

“I didn’t—” My voice faltered under his expectant gaze. I swallowed hard. “I didn’t send this.”

Evan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, his movements slow and deliberate. “Clara, you’ve been... distracted lately. Maybe you forgot?”

The knot in my stomach tightened, and my heart began to race. His tone wasn’t accusing; it was careful, too careful. He was worried.

“I didn’t forget,” I said, sharper than I intended. “I didn’t send it.”

He hesitated, his hand hovering mid-air as if deciding whether to reach for me or retreat. “Okay. Maybe it’s a glitch or—” He stopped himself, his voice softening. “Clara, I just... feel like I’m losing you.” His words hung in the air, a raw admission that felt heavier than the tension already crackling between us.

I turned away, setting my mug on the counter with more force than necessary. The sound of ceramic against quartz echoed in the sterile quiet of the apartment. “I have to go. I’m running late.”

“Wait, Clara—”

I didn’t let him finish. Grabbing my bag and coat, I headed for the door. The coat slipped slightly off the hanger as I pulled it free, dangling crookedly as if mocking me. I paused, the urge to fix it almost overwhelming. But instead, I left it that way, a silent rebellion against the chaos brewing inside me.

---

The office greeted me with its familiar sterility. Clean lines, muted tones, and the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights humming just beneath the surface. My heels clicked against the polished floor, a sound that usually steadied me. Today, it felt hollow.

I reached my desk and froze. A piece of paper sat neatly in the center, perfectly aligned with the edges of the surface.

I glanced around. Mark was at his workstation nearby, headphones on, his eyes glued to his screen. No one else was near.

I unfolded the paper slowly, the crisp sound grating against the quiet.

“You can’t hide forever.”

The words were written in my handwriting—precise, deliberate. The sharp angles of the “h,” the clean loops of the “g.” It was undeniably mine.

But I hadn’t written it.

Had I?

My breath caught, the air thickening and pressing against my chest. My hands trembled, and a faint ringing began in my ears. I folded the paper quickly, shoving it into my bag. The smooth leather swallowed the evidence of my fraying mind.

Focus. I just needed to focus. I pulled up the project files for the Henderson account, the soft blue glow of the monitor a welcome distraction. Precision. Control. These were my tools, my armor. If I could just get through the day—

“Morning, Clara.”

I jumped, my hand jerking the mouse across the desk. Mark stood on the other side of the partition, his crooked smile faltering as he took in my expression.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, holding up a hand. “Just wanted to check if we’re still on for the Henderson review at two.”

“Of course,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor running through me.

Mark lingered, his posture hesitant. “You okay? You look... tense.”

“I’m fine.” The response came automatically, clipped and final.

He nodded slowly, as if debating whether to press further. “Okay. If you need anything...” He let the sentence hang before walking away, his sneakers squeaking faintly with each step.

I exhaled sharply, pressing my palms flat against the desk. Fine. I was fine.

---

The apartment was eerily silent when I returned that evening. The city’s distant hum was muted by the thick glass, as if the outside world had receded entirely. I dropped my bag by the door, the sound of it hitting the floor louder than it should have been.

And then I saw it.

A folded piece of paper sat on the coffee table, stark against the polished wood. My breath hitched as I approached, my movements slow and deliberate, as if the note might vanish if I moved too quickly.

I picked it up with trembling fingers, the rough texture of the paper sharp against my skin.

“You’re not fooling anyone.”

The handwriting was mine again. Sharp. Unmistakable.

A chill ran down my spine, and I glanced around the apartment, my pulse thundering in my ears. The pristine surfaces and carefully arranged furniture were exactly as I’d left them, but now they felt alien, hostile. I scanned the room for any sign of intrusion—a misplaced object, an open window—but found nothing.

The note slipped from my fingers, landing on the coffee table with a flutter. I backed away, my movements unsteady, and my gaze landed on the Precision Watch still strapped to my wrist. Its second hand ticked steadily, oblivious to the chaos unraveling around me.

I tore it off and placed it on the counter, the sight of it suddenly unbearable.

As I turned toward the bedroom, something caught my eye. A glimmer in the hallway mirror.

I froze.

Her.

She was there, just for a moment. My reflection—but not mine. She stared back at me with an expression that was almost... amused. Pitying.

I spun around, my breath hitching, but the hallway was empty.

The mirror reflected only me now—pale, wide-eyed, and trembling. But as I leaned closer, I could have sworn the edges of my reflection were smudged, as if something—or someone—had just slipped away.

---

Sleep was impossible. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the night stretched on, the notes replaying in my mind like a broken record.

“You can’t hide forever.”

“You’re not fooling anyone.”

The words itched at the edges of my thoughts, burrowing deeper each time I tried to push them away. My hands trembled under the sheets, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

By the time the first rays of dawn seeped through the windows, I felt hollow, the knots in my stomach tighter than ever. My gaze drifted toward the Precision Watch on the counter, its ticking an accusation I couldn’t ignore.

I didn’t know what was happening. But one thing was certain—

I wasn’t alone.