Cedar Wells pushed open the door to her tired, weathered apartment, the hinges groaning in protest. The place wasn’t much, but after massaging six clients for barely livable wages, it was her haven. Food and a night of zoning out in front of the TV—that was all she needed right now. Nothing sounded better.

Before thinking about dinner, she shed her work clothes in a trail from the door to her bedroom. First went her shirt, and then—most importantly—her bra. Freedom at last. Pulling on her softest pajamas, she sighed in relief, savoring the brief comfort the ritual brought.

In the kitchen, she rummaged through the freezer until she found a frost-coated, pre-made dinner. It wasn’t gourmet, but it would do. While the microwave hummed, she set the kettle to boil, filling the silence of the apartment with little sounds of home. Moments later, dinner heated and tea steeped, she retreated to her bed, tray balanced carefully in her lap.

The warmth of the tea and the simple meal wrapped around her like a blanket, dulling the edges of exhaustion. For a moment, she felt… content. Relaxed, even.

Happy.

The thought startled her. Happy? Cedar blinked, staring into the empty tea mug in her hands. I never feel happy.

The realization sat heavy in her chest, mingling with the exhaustion she already knew too well. Tomorrow would be the same—another long day, another microwaved meal, another brief reprieve. But for tonight, she let herself feel it. Whatever this was, it wouldn’t last.

“Don’t freak out,” a voice called from the kitchen—a voice that sounded exactly like hers.

Cedar jolted, pulling her knees to her chest. Her mug slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor. “Who’s there?”

“Please, it’s okay. Everything is fine… sort of,” the voice replied. “I put something in your tea to help you relax.”

Cedar’s heart slammed against her ribs. “I’m calling the police,” she said, frantically pawing through the blankets for her phone.

“They’ll be here tomorrow night at 10,” the voice continued, ignoring her threat. “That’s why I’m here. You’re about to be placed into the virtual rehabilitation program, but you’ll remember everything I tell you today. You’ll need to be ready for it.”

Cedar froze. Her phone was nowhere to be found.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“I have your phone,” the voice said smoothly. “Stay calm and listen. Are you listening?”

Why did the voice sound like hers? Cedar’s thoughts raced, grasping for answers. They must be using some kind of cloning tech to disguise themselves—but why my voice? Of all the options, why not an unassuming, non-threatening old lady? If they didn’t want her to panic, this was the worst choice.

Her voice. Her tone. Her words. And yet, it wasn’t her.

“You’re going to be arrested for grand larceny, but that’s the least of your concerns,” the voice said. “In virtual rehab, you’ll meet someone. You’ll have to trust them. Do you—”

Cedar’s focus wavered as her mind began to fog. The voice faded into the background, its words slipping through her grasp. A strange calmness spread through her body, melting away her panic. It felt wrong, unnatural.

She blinked sluggishly, struggling to hold on to coherent thought. “You… drugged me,” she mumbled, the realization landing softly, without the fear it deserved. She should be terrified, but instead, she felt weightless. Detached.

Throwing the blankets off, Cedar swung her legs off the bed and stood, her movements deliberate but oddly unsteady. She padded out of her bedroom, into the dim light of the living room.

A figure stood in the shadows, motionless.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling—not from fear, but from sheer disbelief.

The figure shifted just enough for the faint light to catch its face. Cedar stiffened, her breath catching in her throat.

It was her.

She blinked once, then again, but the figure didn’t change. Same face. Same build. Same piercing gaze. It was like staring into a warped, living mirror.

Her heart thudded in slow, drugged beats as she whispered, “This can’t be real.”

“The serenity elixir worked,” the figure said with a small nod, her tone calm and assured. “Good. Okay then, listen closely. Promise me you’ll trust the person you’re going to meet. A lot depends on it.”

Cedar stared, swaying slightly, her body unsteady but her mind strangely receptive.

“I’m telling you this because I remember being you in this exact moment,” the figure continued. “And trust me, it helped. I can’t explain everything, though. You’ll have to live through it—one sip at a time—just like I did.”

The figure stepped closer, her voice softening. “When they place you into the virtual rehabilitation program, you won’t realize it’s a program. Not at first. Its purpose is to replay the events of your alleged crime, and if you’re found guilty, you’ll stay in the program until… well, you’ll figure that out once you’re in.”

Cedar wavered on her feet, the room shifting slightly around her. 

“Are you getting all this?”

She nodded faintly, not questioning the validity of what she was hearing. Somehow, it all made sense. More than that, she didn’t feel fear or resistance—just a strange, all-encompassing contentment.

“The person you’ll meet will also be you,” the figure said, her voice dipping into something almost reverent. “Only they’ll be far older. Centuries older. I’m you, just a couple of years ahead, but the Cedar you’ll meet in the virtual rehab is on a whole other level. And the fact that I’m standing here should bring you some comfort. It means you’ll make it out alive. I’m living proof of that.”

The figure smiled faintly, her gaze steady. “So whatever happens, just remember—you’ll be okay.

Unless you somehow mess it up this time.”