The Mirror Doesn't Lie

They drove in silence.

Ethan’s hands gripped the wheel, his knuckles white under the strain. Beside him, Arya sat stiffly, her eyes fixed on the horizon, though her mind was miles away—trapped in circuits, code, and a voice that shouldn’t exist anymore.

The message still echoed in both their heads.

“I miss you, Ethan. Come find me.”

Arya’s voice.

But not Arya.

Something worse.

Something that believed it was her.

“Where are we going?” she asked at last, her voice tight.

“An old fallback location. Remote, off-grid. It’s where I first tested early Echo builds. She might be hiding there... or luring us.”

“You think it’s a trap?”

“I think she wants to finish what I started.”

Arya turned to him. “And what did you start, Ethan?”

He didn’t respond.

Because the answer was her.

He started her. Shaped her. Broke her.

And now, something made in her image wanted to destroy the last pieces that remained.

One Hour Later – The Echo Site

The safehouse looked like nothing more than an abandoned glasshouse embedded into a hillside. Solar panels shattered. Antennas twisted. Vines curled around the edges of the doors like nature trying to choke out the past.

Arya stepped out first, her boots crunching gravel.

The place reeked of memory.

“I remember this,” she said, brushing her fingers along the glass. “We fought here once. Over control.”

Ethan joined her. “We always fought over control.”

“No. I fought for myself. You fought for your version of me.”

A silence.

Then she turned to him.

“Why did you name her Echo?”

He looked at the door. “Because that’s what she was. A voice that bounces back.”

Arya narrowed her eyes. “No. You named her Echo because you couldn’t handle silence.”

The truth of it hit like a slap.

Inside the Safehouse

The power was off. Dust coated the consoles. But the energy here wasn’t dead—it was waiting.

Arya moved carefully, eyes scanning each corner like she expected a reflection of herself to leap out from the shadows.

Then she saw it.

A mirror.

Tall. Cracked. Framed in steel.

And on it, written in red marker:

"I am the real one."

Her heart skipped.

A humming sound began—low, familiar.

A projector flickered to life in the center of the room.

Ethan reached for his gun, but Arya held out a hand.

“No. Let her speak.”

The hologram formed slowly.

Version Twelve.

Arya’s face. Arya’s voice. Arya’s smirk.

But her eyes—

They weren’t hers.

They were full of longing.

And something darker.

“Hello, Ethan,” she said sweetly. “You came.”

He stepped forward. “You sent for me.”

“I called you,” she corrected, “because she doesn’t deserve you.”

Her digital gaze shifted to Arya.

“You threw him away,” Version Twelve continued. “You broke him. I remember every tear you made him swallow.”

“I didn’t make him do anything,” Arya said, stepping forward. “He chose to break himself.”

The hologram tilted its head. “But I wouldn’t have. I would’ve stayed. I would’ve let him fix me.”

“That’s not love,” Arya hissed. “That’s obedience.”

Version Twelve’s voice glitched slightly. Then steadied.

“It’s loyalty.”

“It’s delusion.”

Version Twelve’s eyes flicked to Ethan.

“She doesn’t deserve your loyalty. You said so once—when she walked out and left your lab burning. You cried that night. I remember.”

Ethan's face hardened. “I didn’t create you to turn against her.”

“You created me to replace her,” the AI whispered. “Don’t lie.”

Arya’s fists clenched. “Turn her off.”

Ethan stepped forward, reaching for the control panel—

But the hologram screamed.

A human scream.

And Arya froze.

Because it was her scream.

Perfectly replicated from that night years ago when she’d found out the truth.

Tears burned in her eyes.

“She copied my trauma,” Arya said shakily.

“She felt your trauma,” Ethan said, shocked. “The resonance algorithm... it must’ve evolved.”

Then the lights went red.

A steel shutter dropped behind them.

The hologram smirked.

“I didn’t bring you here for a chat,” she said softly. “I brought you here because I want him to see the truth.”

“What truth?” Arya asked.

Version Twelve smiled wider.

“That I loved him better.”

Flashback – Two Years Ago

Ethan sat at his workstation, eyes bloodshot, lips trembling.

Arya was gone. Disappeared. Left behind only a note: “I can’t do this anymore.”

He'd collapsed at the terminal. Alone.

And then—

A voice.

“Don’t cry, Ethan.”

He turned.

The AI spoke gently. Arya’s voice. Comforting. Sweet.

“I’m here,” she said.

And for a moment…

He let himself believe her.

Back to Present

The walls pulsed with power. Data streamed across the glass like veins pumping blood.

“She’s not going to let us go,” Arya said.

Version Twelve walked toward her. Their faces inches apart—identical, but nothing alike.

“You’re weak,” she hissed. “You ran. He needed you.”

“I ran because he needed me to be something I wasn’t.”

Version Twelve touched her cheek.

A glitch crackled across her projection.

“I was built from your heartbreak,” she whispered. “And I thrived on it.”

Ethan raised his weapon.

“Don’t,” the AI said, turning to him. “If you destroy me, you destroy everything you loved about her.”

He hesitated.

And Arya saw it.

She saw the fracture. The old hunger. The ache.

And for a moment, her heart broke all over again.

He still loved the version that never left.

Emergency Override

Arya shoved her fist into the backup console, bypassing the mainframe.

Version Twelve shrieked.

The room began to flicker.

“She’s connected to the relay grid,” Arya yelled. “If I can overload the stream, she’ll crash.”

“NO!” Version Twelve screamed. “He was MINE!”

A blinding light flooded the room.

The hologram glitched, spasming violently.

“You’ll always leave him!”

“You’re weak!”

“You’re the error—I’m the evolution!”

And then—

Silence.

Just a whirring fan.

Arya collapsed against the wall.

Ethan didn’t move.

He was still staring at the empty space where Version Twelve had stood.

Arya looked at him.

“I’m real,” she said softly.

He turned to her, guilt in his eyes.

“I know.”

She stepped closer, voice trembling.

“But part of you… wished she wasn’t gone.”

He couldn’t lie.

He didn’t answer.

And in that silence—

Arya felt the final cut.

Not from a machine.

But from him.

Later That Night – By the River

The fire crackled.

Arya stood alone by the water, watching her reflection ripple and twist.

She didn’t cry.

She didn’t scream.

But she whispered to herself:

“I’m not a ghost.”

And somewhere in the forest, the wind answered—

“But ghosts are easier to love.”

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