The first thing she noticed was the sky.

It wasn’t ordinary. Just… vast.

A huge, cloudless sky stretched out above her in every direction, tinged with an off-blue, greenish haze that made it feel like someone had dialed the world slightly out of phase. It looked too open, too still—like a desert sky repainted by something that had only heard rumors of color.

She sat up slowly, sand stuck to her palms.
Not beach sand. Denser. Pale as dust. Warm, but dry.
It whispered as it shifted under her legs — like a sound meant for someone else.

Buildings rose around her — tall, clean, bleached.
Skyscrapers, maybe, once. But they looked scrubbed.
As if someone had taken the city she knew and erased all the colour.

She stood. Tested her legs. No pain. No injury.
Just a little breathless — and something else.

A tug, maybe. Not on her wrist — she checked — but in her gut.
Like a trail without a leash. Like momentum remembered.

She flexed her fingers and rolled one shoulder, muscles ticking with habit.

Her hand blurred.

She paused, blinking once.
Did it again.

A faint motion ghost followed the movement — soft and slow, like a bad video effect.
But then it caught up. Snapped back into place.

“…okay,” she murmured.

She tried both arms at once — sweeping them through the air in loose curves, just to see.
The echo widened, trailing behind her like the wings of a hummingbird, like light caught mid-flight. It shimmered for a moment, hanging there too long to be natural.

She laughed.
Quiet. A little awed.

“Weird. But kinda cool.”

An idea hit her. A test.

She bent, scooped a handful of sand, and flung it forward.

The grains scattered like glitter in a spotlight—but instead of falling cleanly, they lagged. Trailed. Like the world was drawing their path a few frames too late.

It wasn’t just her.

The whole place blurred.

Every movement, every object in motion, was part of the glitch.

She looked down the open street.
Sand drifted up to the curbs like snow.
The buildings curved slightly — too uniform, too soft.

Something in her — an itch in the back of her head — wanted to move.

So she jogged.
Just a few steps at first. Then more.

Each footfall stirred the sand — and each movement left a trail.

Somewhere distant, faint and steady, a clicking sound pulsed through the stillness.
Like cicadas. Out of place in the quiet cityscape.
But there — tapping out rhythm like a hidden heartbeat.
Faint, delayed, like her body had to double-check it was really there.

She ran a little faster.
Turned sharply — saw her own shoulder trail behind by half a second.
It felt like cheating gravity. Like being part of a stunt sequence.

Like kids in some old film she barely remembered —
leaping off broken stairwells and floating instead of falling.

The world didn’t resist.

So she ran.

Not from anything.

Just because the dream hadn’t caught up yet.

She took a corner wide, boots skidding through soft grit.
The buildings pulled back — space opening in a way that didn’t make sense.

A plaza? No, too clean.
A station.

Long benches. Arching ceiling. Wall-mounted panels still blinking in dead languages.

“Bahnhof?”

The word dropped into her head like it had always been there.

She slowed instinctively. The air felt heavier here.
Like the atmosphere thickened to molasses.
Like movement meant something in this place.

The echo stopped trailing.

No blur. No glitch.

Only silence.

Her breath came sharp. Audible.
For the first time, she heard herself.

She scanned left. Right.

A single track tunnel stretched off into white fog.
No signs of motion. No sound of trains.
Just empty rails and that distant, humming light that never flickered.

She turned—

And froze.

A figure sat on one of the benches.

Same build.
Same hair.
Same reinforced leggings, dusted with sand.

Her own body, seen from behind.

Arms resting on thighs.
Still. Calm. Waiting.

“Hey,” she said — softly, automatically.

No reaction.

She stepped forward — slowly this time.
No trail. No lag.

The silence in the station pressed against her ears.

“Hey,” louder. “You—”

The figure stood.

Not fast. Not startled.
Just rose, fluid, like she’d finished a break and was ready to move.

Then, without turning — she walked.

Not toward the exit. Not towards the track.

Just… across the space.

She stepped into a fog at the edge of the platform.

No urgency.
No message.

Gone.

She stood there a moment longer, heartbeat loud in her chest.
Not fear. Not quite.

More like the aftershock of seeing someone already do the thing you haven’t decided on yet.

She looked at the bench.

It was empty.

Without thinking, she walked over and sat down.
Arms resting on her thighs. Back slightly hunched. Relaxed.

It felt good, somehow. Familiar. Like the station had been waiting for her to stop moving.

She stared into the fog, not searching for anything. Just breathing.

Then—a sound.

Soft, distant, like metal shifting. Or maybe breath.

Her head snapped up, heart jolting into motion.

The fog rippled. It felt like something was out there—unseen, quiet, but present. Not a threat. Just watching. Waiting.

She stood, pulse quickening, the quiet no longer calming.

She moved toward the fog, drawn forward by instinct more than intent.

A single, dry click echoed from somewhere just ahead — sharp and delicate, like a cicada caught mid-call. It faded before she could place it.

The station faded behind her as the mist thickened, cool against her cheeks. Visibility dropped to a few feet at most.

Then it opened.

Not into tracks. Not into another tunnel.

A shopping center.

Wide and abandoned. The air felt stale, dust curling along the tiled floors.
Somewhere deeper in the corridors, that same clicking returned — soft, repetitive, insect-like, threading through the silence like a sound that refused to fade. Stores sat hollowed out—shelves bare, windows smudged, escalators frozen mid-step. There should’ve been noise here. People. Music. Something.

And at the far edge of a corridor—near the broken outline of an exit sign—stood another version of her.

It smiled.

Then turned.

And walked away.

She followed.

The echo disappeared around the corner, and she picked up her pace, boots quiet on the tiled floor. The mall stretched wider than it should have, swallowing sound. Her breathing grew louder in her ears.

She rounded the corner—

And stopped.

Another her stood just inches away.

Face to face.

So close their noses almost touched.

She flinched.

But the shadow didn’t move.

It only looked at her, head slightly tilted, as if trying to remember something she’d never said.

Without realizing it, she tilted her head in return.

A strange smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Not fear—amusement. Curiosity. Like this was a game she hadn’t learned the rules to yet, but was eager to play.

She didn’t move away.

The shadow mirrored her smile.

Then, without a word, it turned sharply and leapt forward into a full sprint.

She blinked—startled, but grinning now.

And took off after it.

They sprinted down the long corridor, footsteps thudding softly on the dusty tile. The shadow kept just ahead of her, neither gaining distance nor letting her catch up.

It veered toward an emergency exit, pushed through the battered doors, and vanished.

She didn’t hesitate. Hit the door at full tilt—

—and ran straight back into the Bahnhof.

Same white station.
Same arched ceiling.
Same silence.

Only this time, others were here.

As she caught her breath, she noticed them—flickers at the edge of vision. More of her. Doubles moving along the edges of the platform, leaning against columns, vanishing down impossible corridors.

They didn’t speak. Most didn’t even look her way. But they moved with purpose. Or with memory.

She turned slowly, the quiet pressing in.

No fog now. No waiting.

Just the sense that the story had started again—but she was further in.

She watched them for a while.

Some sat cross-legged on the floor, tracing invisible lines with their fingers. One paced in tight, deliberate circles. Another stood at a panel, staring at the dead screen as if waiting for it to flicker back to life. A pair crouched together under one of the benches, heads tilted inward like they were sharing a secret too quiet to hear.

One version of her held a shoe like it was a delicate relic. Another tossed a coin over and over, though no sound came when it landed in her palm.

None of it made sense. And somehow, all of it did.

The Bahnhof was full now—but only with her.

But one of them—

One of them didn’t fit.

She stood near the edge of the tiled platform, arms crossed, back straight, unmoving.

Not wandering. Not confused. Not caught in repetition.

Watching.

Her eyes locked on the original. On her.

No smile. No head tilt. No motion-play.

Just awareness.

And when she realized she’d been seen—

She grinned.

Then she moved.

Not rushed. Not startled. Just turned and stepped into the mist at the far edge of the station.

The watcher was leaving.

And without hesitation, she followed.

The mist curled close again as she moved through it, denser this time, pressing soft against her skin like breath held too long. She hesitated, just for a second, then kept moving — the weight of it oddly reassuring.

Then—just like before—it parted.

And she stepped back into the mall.

Same dust. Same frozen escalators. Same echo of footsteps on tile. But different.

Now she knew what she was chasing.

But the mall was quiet again. Still.

No others. No watchers. No versions of her wandering the aisles or pacing by storefronts.

She took a few cautious steps forward, scanning every corner.

Nothing.

She started to search.

She headed toward the escalator, its stairs locked in place. One foot placed carefully on the step, then another.

It didn’t move, but she climbed.

Halfway up, she paused. Something felt off.

Lighter.

She pushed upward in a short jump—and rose farther than she should have. A slow, graceful arc.

Gravity wasn’t broken.

Just… reluctant.

She smiled.

And kept climbing.

With each step, she tested the lift — a skip here, a spring there, her movements playful now, experimental. She raised one arm, then both, sweeping slow arcs through the air and watching the lag follow behind her like curious wings.

The escalator became less of a staircase and more of a runway — a place to dance with gravity and rhythm. Her athletic frame moved like she was made for this place. Not resisting the weirdness.

Enjoying it.

She grinned wide. Let her legs bounce her up the final steps in a lazy jog. The top was coming.

And somewhere above, the watcher was still running.

Then—motion from the corner of her eye.

The watcher appeared again, high above, at the edge of a cracked balcony that overlooked the mall floor.

She leapt.

Not down a stair. Not toward a ramp. Over.

An impossible arc — graceful, fluid — a full flip in the air, hair trailing, limbs caught in slow motion like a scene from a film that had forgotten to obey gravity.

And then she floated down. Not fell — floated — to the tiled floor below.

She landed light, almost soundless, and took off at a run down one of the side corridors.

A grin tugged at her mouth before she even realized it.

Somewhere between absurd and awe, it felt… right.

She moved to follow.

No stairs. No railing.

Just space.

She reached the edge of the same balcony. Paused.

She stared down. It was a long drop.

Was that even possible?

This place had bent the rules before — but this? It felt like asking too much.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

She grinned.

Screw it, she thought — and leapt.

Trusting.

The world didn’t catch her—it let her float.

A single flip, not perfect, but enough. Arms wide, body arcing through air that felt like thick mist and memory. A shimmer of blur followed her legs as she spun, like the echo of movement trying to catch up—soft and trailing, caught between seconds.

She landed with a slight wobble, knees bending to absorb it. A laugh escaped—short, breathy, delighted.

And she ran.

Down the same corridor. After the watcher.

She blinked.

The train station again.

But it didn’t feel the same.

There was a weight to it now—a familiarity laced with something just out of reach. Not déjà vu. Not dread. Just the sense that the loop wasn’t closing—it was opening.

Only this time, the fog was gone. The benches were gone. The blinking panels now dark.

And across the room, the watcher sat calmly. Thread on her wrist.

She took a step forward, pulse still racing from the sprint. Her mouth opened—this time, she was going to speak. Ask. Something.

The seated version stood.

Smiled.

And pointed.

At her wrist.

She looked down.

A thread. Faint, but there. Soft shimmer. Cool against her skin. It hadn’t been there before.

Her breath caught.

She looked up.

Alone.

The corridor was still. Empty again.

She flexed her wrist, testing the tension on the thread. It tugged gently in return — not pulling, not leading. Just present.

She shrugged.

Grinned.

Game on.

Something shifted.

She wasn’t chasing shadows anymore.

She was on a journey.

To do what they hadn’t.

---

❂ The thread winds this way.

Follow where it frays, tangles, or tightens.

Each part holds the next—and the next part is just below.