Curiosity overriding caution, she typed it into the address bar: www.scex.com .

Lena stood, pulse hammering. Through the peephole, the hallway was empty. But when she turned back, her laptop screen now showed a live video feed. A single figure stood in her kitchen, back turned, wearing the same gray hoodie Marcus had worn the night he left—the night she’d stayed silent when she should have spoken.

Lena had a rule: never click on spam emails. But at 2:33 AM, hunched over her laptop with the glow bleaching her face, the subject line "Your other self is waiting at Www scex com" felt less like spam and more like a dare.

She typed it. Pressed Enter.

Three slow raps.

Lena’s hands shook. She looked at the figure, now turning slowly—face still hidden. Then she looked at the blinking cursor.

“Turn around,” she whispered.