The Room Without Windows When Elara woke up, the ceiling was closer than it should've been. It was painted a dull, chalky white, low enough that she could reach out and touch it if she stretched her fingers. The air smelled faintly metallic, like old coins left in rainwater. For several long seconds, she lay still, trying to remember the last thing she'd done before waking here. Her mind gave her nothing. Just static. The mattress beneath her was thin and cold. She sat up slowly, the sound of fabric rustling against fabric unnaturally loud in the silence. The room was small - claustrophobically so. One narrow bed, one metal chair, one door. No windows. Elara swung her legs over the side of the bed and felt the floor - concrete, polished smooth. Her heartbeat began to climb. "Hello?" she called out, and the sound bounced off the walls, returning softer, smaller. No answer. She stood, unsteady, and pressed her palm against the wall. Cold. Too cold for any normal building interior. There was no hum of electricity, no faint vibration of pipes, no distant footsteps. Just silence - thick, unnatural silence. Then she saw it: a camera in the corner, small, black, the faint red blink of an active lens. Watching her. Her throat went dry. "Who's there?" she tried again. "Why am I here?" The red light blinked twice, like a slow heartbeat. And then a voice came through a speaker she hadn't noticed - calm, genderless, mechanical. "Elara Quinn. You are awake." Her own name hit her like a physical blow. "You know who I am. Where am I?" "You are in Room Twelve," the voice said. "Please remain calm. Assessment will begin shortly." "Assessment? What assessment?" She backed toward the door, found no handle on her side. Only a smooth metal surface. "Let me out." Silence again. The camera blinked once more, then stopped recording. The red light went dark. She was alone. Hours - or minutes - passed; time didn't make sense here. Eventually, the ceiling lights dimmed, shifting from white to pale blue. A low hum began in the walls. The chair in the corner moved - on its own - scraping an inch across the floor as if pulled by invisible strings. Elara froze. Her body screamed *run*, but there was nowhere to go. Then, the door clicked. It didn't open. It just clicked - once - the kind of sound that meant something had been unlocked. A small drawer slid open beneath the camera, revealing a single item inside: a photograph. She approached carefully, half expecting the camera to turn back on. The photo showed a house - her house. Her actual house, the one she'd grown up in on Ashbury Road. Except it was wrong. The windows were boarded shut, the front door sealed with rusted metal, the grass outside pale as ash. On the back of the photo, someone had written three words in thick black ink: ** "You never left. " ** Her breath caught. "What does that mean?" she whispered. The speaker crackled to life again. "Begin assessment one." Before she could ask, the lights cut out. Darkness swallowed everything. A low mechanical whine began to rise, deep in the walls. Then came the faint *tap tap tap* - like fingertips against glass, except there was no glass. The tapping grew louder, circling her, though she still saw nothing. She pressed her back to the wall, whispering, "This isn't real." And then - a whisper that wasn't hers. "Are you sure?" Her chest seized. The voice had come from behind her, yet the wall was solid. She spun around, pressing both palms against it. Cold. Still. Empty. Then, a light flickered on again - not from the ceiling this time, but from within the wall itself. A rectangular section glowed faintly, revealing something behind the surface: another room. Inside that hidden room was a mirror image of her own. The same bed. The same chair. The same camera. And someone standing in it. It was her. The other Elara looked up at her through the glass, head tilted, expression unreadable. For a long time, neither moved. Then the double smiled - a slow, deliberate stretch of lips that didn't belong to her face and raised her hand. The gesture was small, almost playful. But when Elara lifted her own hand in reflex, the reflection didn't match. The other hand stayed still. That was the moment she realized it wasn't a mirror at all. "Elara Quinn," the voice said again, louder now. "Assessment one complete. Emotional coherence: unstable. Identity divergence: confirmed." The lights returned fully, washing out the hidden window, making the wall look whole again. The other her was gone. She stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the bed to keep from falling. "What is this place? What are you doing to me?" "Preparing you," the voice said. "For what?" A pause. Then - "For yourself." Later, when the lights dimmed again and the air grew colder, Elara found something carved into the metal door, faint but unmistakable. *There is no way out .* Beneath it, smaller, newer letters had been added - shaky, desperate. *But there is a way in .* She stared at it for a long time, and for the first time since waking up, she realized she was not the first person to stand in this room. And maybe, she thought, she wouldn't be the last.