The other Arden walked through her.
Not around. Through.
Like she was smoke. Less than smoke.
Arden's hands went to her chest. Checking. Solid. Real. Her heart beat against her palm. Fast. Too fast.
"I'm here," she said. To herself. To no one. "I'm real."
Kael didn't answer. He was watching Past Arden walk down the street. Coffee in one hand. Phone in the other. Smiling at something on the screen.
Ten days ago. Before Marcus. Before Lira. Before Bus 000.
Before everything ended.
"We should follow her." Amara's voice shook. She'd been quiet since the temple. Since Nurse Hollow. "Right? That's what we do?"
"Yes." Kael started walking.
Arden didn't move. Couldn't. Her legs had forgotten how.
Past Arden turned a corner. Disappeared from view.
"Arden." Kael looked back. "We need to see."
"See what?"
"How you died."
The words sat between them. Heavy. Wrong shape.
"I'm not dead."
"No." He moved closer. Careful. Like approaching something that might bolt. "You're not. But she is. That version. The one we're following."
"I don't understand."
"Station Three shows you the truth. The thing you've been avoiding." His eyes were sad. Old. "Every player gets a different truth. Yours is this."
Amara was already gone. Following Past Arden around the corner.
Arden's feet moved. Not because she decided. Because standing still hurt more than walking.
They turned the corner.
Past Arden was outside a coffee shop. The one near her apartment. Arden knew this place. Knew this day. October 17th. Nothing special. Nothing happened on October 17th.
Except.
Past Arden stopped. Pulled out her phone. Stared at the screen.
From this distance, Arden couldn't see what. But she knew. Somehow knew.
Past Arden's face changed. Smile died. Color drained.
"What did she see?" Amara whispered.
"A text," Arden heard herself say. "From Lira. Asking to come over. Saying she needs to talk about something important."
"How do you know?"
"Because I remember." The memory was there now. Solid. Real. "I got that text. I invited her over."
Past Arden was walking again. Faster. Coffee forgotten on a bench. Phone clutched in both hands.
They followed. Three ghosts trailing a living woman who didn't know she was about to die.
The apartment building. Gray concrete. Eight stories. Arden lived on the fifth floor. Past tense. Lived. Before she left. Before the bus.
Before.
Past Arden went inside. The glass door swung shut behind her.
"We can't follow," Amara said. "Right? We can't go inside?"
"We can." Kael reached for the door. His hand passed through it. "We're not really here. We're watching a recording. A memory."
He walked through the glass. Solid glass. Didn't shatter. Didn't open. He just walked through.
Amara followed. Hesitated. Then stepped through like it was water.
Arden stayed outside.
Her reflection stared back from the glass. Dirty. Bloody. Eyes too wide. This was her. The real her. The one who'd survived four stations. Lost memories. Watched Obi burn.
The one who was still alive.
She stepped through the glass.
Cold. Like diving into a lake in winter. Then warmth. Normal temperature. The lobby smelled like cleaning supplies and old carpet.
Past Arden was at the elevator. Pressing the button. Tapping her foot. Anxious.
The elevator arrived. She stepped in.
They followed. Three ghosts in an elevator with a woman who was about to die.
Arden watched herself. Past self. The woman she'd been ten days ago. Still whole. Still certain. Still someone who believed the world made sense.
"You knew," Arden said quietly. "When you got on Bus 000. You knew I'd been dead."
Kael nodded.
"How?"
"I've done this before. Station Three. My version." His jaw clenched. Unclenched. "I had to watch myself die in a war I didn't remember fighting. Saw the bullet. Saw my body. Then I woke up and realized that's where my memories stopped. The day I died. Everything after was borrowed. Stolen. Built from nothing."
The elevator stopped. Fifth floor.
Past Arden stepped out. Walked to apartment 5C. Her apartment. Was her apartment.
She unlocked the door. Went inside.
They followed.
The apartment was exactly as Arden remembered. Small. Cluttered. Books everywhere. Her laptop open on the dining table. Chapter seventeen on the screen. She'd been revising chapter seventeen.
Past Arden set her phone down. Looked around. Checked the time.
1:47 PM.
Lira would arrive at 2:00. Then Marcus at 2:30. That's when Arden was supposed to be at her editor's office. But she'd cancelled. Stayed home. Wanted to talk to Lira first.
About what? She couldn't remember. Something important. Something that had been bothering her for weeks.
Past Arden went to the kitchen. Started making tea. Chamomile. Two cups.
"She doesn't know," Amara said. "What's coming."
"No one ever does." Kael sat on the couch. The red couch. "That's the point."
Minutes passed. Arden watched herself move through the apartment. Straightening pillows. Closing the laptop. Nervous energy. The kind that meant something was wrong but you couldn't name it.
2:00 PM.
A knock at the door.
Past Arden opened it.
Lira stood there. Blonde hair. Perfect makeup. Yoga pants. Designer bag. Smiling.
"Hey, sis."
"Hey." Past Arden stepped aside. Let her in. "Thanks for coming."
"Of course." Lira's smile widened. "What did you want to talk about?"
But Past Arden didn't answer. Just closed the door. Locked it.
Turned around.
Saw Marcus standing in the kitchen.
Not possible. He wasn't supposed to be there. Not yet. Not for another thirty minutes.
"Marcus?" Past Arden's voice went thin. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer. Just looked at Lira. Some signal passing between them.
"Oh," Past Arden said. Small voice. Broken voice. "Oh."
"We didn't mean for you to find out like this," Lira started.
But Past Arden was already moving. Away from them. Toward the window. The big window that overlooked the street.
"Arden, wait." Marcus followed. "Let's talk about this."
"Talk." Past Arden laughed. Wrong sound. Not a laugh. "You want to talk. While you're fucking my sister. In my apartment. On my couch."
"We were going to tell you," Lira said. No guilt in her voice. Just annoyance. "You're making this dramatic."
"Dramatic." Past Arden reached the window. "I'm making this dramatic."
She opened it. Cold October air rushed in.
"What are you doing?" Marcus stopped. Ten feet away. Maybe sensing something. "Arden. Stop."
But she was already climbing onto the ledge.
Present Arden couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. This wasn't real. This didn't happen. She'd left the apartment. Walked in the rain. Found the bus.
She didn't jump. She wouldn't. She was afraid of heights. Always had been.
"This isn't real," she said. Voice cracking.
Kael stood. Moved beside her. "It's real in this timeline."
"What timeline? There's only one."
"No." He gestured at Past Arden. At the woman on the ledge. "There are forty-seven. You've lived this moment forty-seven times. Each time, you made a different choice."
Past Arden looked down. Eight stories. Concrete below.
"Come inside," Marcus said. Hands raised. Placating. "Please. We'll figure this out."
"Figure what out?" Past Arden's voice was steady now. Calm. Wrong kind of calm. "Figure out how I'm supposed to live knowing the two people I love most in the world betrayed me? Figure out how I'm supposed to wake up every day and remember I'm not worth being loyal to?"
"That's not true," Lira said. But she didn't move closer. Didn't try to stop her.
"Forty-seven seconds," Past Arden said. "That's how long I let you drown, Lira. I counted. One. Two. Three. All the way to forty-seven. I let you almost die because I was jealous. Because part of me hated you."
"Arden—"
"And now you've done the same thing. Let me drown. But you didn't count seconds. You counted months." She looked at Marcus. "Three months. That's how long?"
He nodded. Couldn't speak.
"So we're even." Past Arden smiled. "Finally even."
She stepped off the ledge.
No hesitation. No counting. Just stepped into air like it was solid ground.
Present Arden screamed. Ran forward. Tried to grab her past self.
Her hands passed through empty air.
Past Arden fell. Five stories. Four. Three.
Hit the ground.
Not a sound. Just impact. Body on concrete. Wrong angles. Too much blood.
The window was empty. Marcus and Lira standing frozen in the apartment. Not moving. Not calling for help. Just standing there.
"No." Present Arden was on her knees. "No no no no no. I didn't. I wouldn't. I'm afraid of heights. I've always been afraid of—"
"In that timeline, you did." Kael pulled her up. Gentle but firm. "That version of you jumped. And died. And the Entity found her. Took her memory of jumping. Replaced it with a memory of leaving. Walking in rain. Finding a bus."
"Why?"
"Because dead players are easier to control. You can't run from a game if you don't remember you're already dead."
The apartment dissolved. The street dissolved. Boston faded like smoke.
They were standing in void. Black space. Nothing above or below.
Just them. And in the distance, a light. Red light. Pulsing.
"What is that?" Amara's voice was small.
"The exit," Kael said. "Station Three's exit."
But between them and the light, something moved. Shapes. Shadows. Getting closer.
Arden saw faces forming in the darkness. Forty-seven faces. All hers. All dead in different ways.
One drowned. Water still dripping from her mouth.
One burned. Skin blackened. Cracked.
One had a hole in her chest. Heart visible. Not beating.
One was twisted. Bones at wrong angles. Spine shattered.
They surrounded the three survivors. These dead Ardens. These failed timelines.
"Which one are you?" The drowned one spoke. Voice wet. Gurgling. "Which version?"
"I don't know," Present Arden whispered.
"Are you the one who jumped?" The burned one stepped closer. "Or the one who walked away? Or the one who fought back? Or the one who called the police? Or the one who forgave them?"
"I walked away. I found a bus."
"Did you?" The broken one tilted her head. Neck crackling. "Or is that just what you've been told to believe?"
They were closing in. Circle tightening. Arden backed up. Hit Kael. Amara on her other side.
"Which death is real?" They spoke in unison. Forty-seven voices. One question. "Which timeline survives?"
"All of them," Kael said. "All timelines exist. She died in all of them. Survived in none of them."
"Then what am I?" Arden turned to him. "If I died. If every version of me died. What's standing here right now?"
He met her eyes. Something terrible in his expression. Pity. Grief. Recognition.
"A ghost," he said. "We're all ghosts. Every player in the Game. We died in our timelines. The Entity found us in that moment. Right at death. Pulled us out. Gave us bodies. Gave us memories. Put us in this place."
"Why?"
"Because the dead make the best entertainment. We can die over and over. Lose memories. Suffer. And never truly escape." He looked at the red light. The exit. "Even if we win. Even if we survive all seven stations. We just get sent back to our timeline. The exact moment we died. And we die again. Loop complete."
Silence.
Then Amara laughed. Wrong sound. Broken sound.
"So this is hell," she said. "This is actually hell."
"No." Arden's voice was steady now. Clear. "Hell would be honest about what it is."
The dead Ardens stopped moving. Watching. Waiting.
Arden stepped forward. Toward them. Toward the drowned one.
"I don't care which timeline I'm from," she said. "I don't care how I died. Or when. Or why." She looked at each dead face. Each version of herself that failed. "I'm here now. I'm conscious. I can make choices. That's enough."
"Is it?" The drowned one's head tilted.
"It has to be."
The dead Ardens smiled. All forty-seven. Same smile. Sad. Knowing.
"Then go," they said. "Go and die again. And again. And again. Until you understand."
"Understand what?"
"That the only way to win is to stop playing."
They parted. Created a path. Straight to the red light. The exit.
Kael started walking. Amara followed.
Arden looked back once. At the dead versions of herself. Standing in darkness. Watching.
"Are you coming?" she asked them.
They shook their heads. All forty-seven.
"We already finished our games," the broken one said. "This is where we wait. For the next Arden. And the next. And the next."
"Forever?"
"Until one of us figures it out."
Arden turned away. Walked toward the red light. Each step felt wrong. Too easy. Like walking to her own execution.
The light grew brighter. Warmer. She could see shapes now. A doorway. Beyond it, something green. Living.
"Station Four," Kael said. "The Carnival."
They stepped through.
Colors exploded. Lights. Music. Calliope music playing backward. The carnival stretched forever. Ferris wheel turning. Carousel spinning. Game booths lining a midway that curved into infinity.
And standing at the entrance, a figure. Tall. Dressed in a ringmaster's coat. Top hat. Face painted half white, half black. Smiling with too many teeth.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" The ringmaster's voice boomed. Neither male nor female. Both and neither. "Welcome to the Carnival of Mirrors! Where every reflection tells the truth! Where every game costs a piece of your soul! Where the only prize is discovering what you really are!"
They bowed. Deep and elaborate.
"I am Ringmaster Revel. Your host. Your tormentor. Your favorite nightmare." They straightened. Eyes landing on Arden. "And you. Oh, you're special. Player 47. The ghost who doesn't know she's haunting herself."
"I know," Arden said.
"Do you?" Revel moved closer. Gliding. Feet not touching ground. "Or do you just think you know? There's a difference."
They gestured. The carnival shifted. Changed. The booths became mirrors. Hundreds of them. Thousands. All reflecting.
Arden looked.
Saw herself. But wrong. Every mirror showed a different version. Different death. Different failure.
One showed her on the ledge. Falling.
One showed her in the castle. Lady Crimson's claws in her chest.
One showed her in the garden. Transformed into a tree. Face frozen in bark. Still conscious. Still aware.
One showed her old. Gray-haired. Alone. Having survived the Game but lost everything that mattered.
"Which one is real?" Revel asked. "Which reflection shows the truth?"
Arden stared at the mirrors. At herself dying in infinite ways.
Then she closed her eyes.
"None of them," she said. "None of it's real."
"Oh?" Revel sounded delighted. "Then what is?"
"I don't know." She opened her eyes. Met the ringmaster's gaze. "But I'm going to find out."
Revel's smile widened. Impossibly wide.
"Then let the games begin."
They snapped their fingers.
The carnival came alive.
And somewhere in the distance, something that sounded like her mother started screaming.