Missax: 364.

Nothing happened. She laughed at herself. Of course. It was just paper and ink.

Lena’s smirk faded. She checked the box again. There was no case file for 363. Or 365. It was as if Missax had her own private shelf in reality.

She tried. She really did. But every time she reached for the photograph, her hand stopped. Not because she couldn’t move it—because she didn’t want to. And that was the horror. The wanting wasn’t hers anymore. It was Missax’s. And Missax had decided to keep her. 364. Missax

Lena spun around. The photograph was unchanged. But now she noticed something new. In the river at Missax’s feet, a small face floated beneath the water. A face with Lena’s eyes.

She whispered into the dark kitchen: “I wish I’d never opened the file.” Nothing happened

Missax.

The file was thinner than the others. That should have been the first clue. It was just paper and ink

And it smiled.

She laid it on her kitchen table. The faceless woman stood in the impossible river, waiting. Lena whispered, “What do you want?”