Emma was the first to wake that morning.
Faint light filtered through the window, but the inn's hallways were still cloaked in shadow.
Jessica and Nóra still slept.
Emma rose quietly, got dressed, and made her way to the inn's kitchen.
The spiral pendant weighed heavily in her pocket with every step.
The kitchen was empty.
But something lay on the table.
Another letter.
Same yellowed paper as before.
Emma's fingers trembled as she opened it.
A single sentence was written:
"The copy can be recognized in the light."
Emma read it again.
And she understood.
She couldn't fight shadows in the dark.
Only light reveals the truth.
And whatever wasn't real… couldn't hide from it.
—
That afternoon, Emma asked Jessica and Nóra to join her for a walk to a small clearing on the edge of the village.
The sun was high by then, pouring blinding white light over everything.
Emma knew: this was her chance.
They stopped in the middle of the clearing.
Jessica squinted and laughed in the brightness.
Nóra stepped into the shade, turning her face away.
Emma's heart pounded.
The copy fears the light.
She slowly pulled the spiral pendant from her pocket.
The sunlight struck it, casting a sharp, dazzling ray toward Nóra.
And Nóra… flinched.
Just for a moment, her face changed.
As if something beneath her skin had twitched.
Something not human.
Jessica didn't notice.
But Emma did.
And she knew.
Nóra wasn't who they thought she was.
Not completely.
Something—or someone—had come out of the spiral with them.
And now it was living among them.
Emma summoned all her courage.
Her eyes met Nóra's.
The pendant no longer felt cold.
Now it was hot.
Pulsing.
Like a second heartbeat in her palm.
But Emma said nothing.
Not yet.
Not here.
She didn't know how to separate Nóra…
from whatever was inside her.
And if she made a mistake—
They'd all be lost.
She didn't know how to separate Nora…
from whatever was inside her.
But she knew one thing:
The spiral wasn't finished with them.
As they walked back to the inn in strained silence, the pendant kept pulsing in Emma's hand, in sync with her rising dread. She glanced sideways at Nora, who now smiled faintly as if nothing had happened. But something had.
The village felt different too. Brighter. Louder. Or perhaps… the contrast was within her. After all, the spiral had always worked inward.
That night, Emma couldn't sleep.
She sat by the window, the pendant resting on the table, still warm. Outside, the moon cast pale shadows over the cobbled path. One of them moved.
She stood slowly.
At the edge of the road stood a figure.
It wore Nora's face.
But its eyes were empty.
Emma leaned forward, heart racing, watching the figure.
It didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Just stood there in the dark with that same unreadable expression.
Like a copy that had learned to mimic a smile… but not the soul behind it.
She grabbed the pendant again, pressing it tightly in her fist.
Behind her, the floor creaked.
"Emma?"
Jessica's voice, sleepy and uncertain.
Emma turned. "Shh. Don't turn on the light."
Jessica stepped closer, rubbing her eyes. "What is it?"
But when Emma turned back to the window, the path was empty.
Gone.
As if it had never been there.
She didn't sleep the rest of the night.
The next morning, Emma didn't mention what she'd seen.
Not to Jessica.
Not to Nora.
Instead, she watched. Every movement. Every word.
She listened for the hesitations.
The moments when Nora's voice didn't sound quite right.
There was one at breakfast.
Nora reached for the sugar without looking—except Emma had moved it earlier.
Her hand hovered in the air, grasping for something that wasn't there.
A second too long.
A pause too sharp.
Then she laughed, brushing it off with a joke.
But Emma didn't laugh.
Later, in the village square, an old man passed them and froze.
He stared at Nora. His lips parted like he meant to speak, but no sound came.
He just crossed himself and turned away.
Jessica noticed. "That was strange."
Emma didn't reply.
That night, the pendant burned again.
A pulse beneath her ribs. A warning.
She dreamed of the clearing.
Of three shadows standing in the light.
But one of them didn't cast one.
And in the dream, the whisper returned:
"She is not who she was."
Emma woke up gasping.
And for the first time…
She wasn't sure she'd brought the real Nora back at all.
The next day brought rain.
A steady drizzle that blurred the outlines of the village and turned the streets to silver.
Emma stood at the window, watching droplets race down the glass.
Behind her, Nora hummed softly—an unfamiliar tune.
Too slow. Too careful.
Like someone mimicking what a human might do to appear calm.
Jessica sat nearby, flipping through an old book, unaware of the dissonance in the room.
Then Nora spoke.
"Do you think… we were meant to leave?"
The question hung there—too casual, too sudden.
Emma turned.
"What do you mean?"
Nora shrugged, her eyes on the rain. "Maybe the spiral didn't let us go. Maybe it sent us back."
Emma felt a cold thread weave down her spine.
"Why would it do that?"
A pause.
"To finish something," Nora whispered.
Emma watched her, unmoving.
That night, Emma opened her notebook.
The one she'd started long ago, before the house, before the spiral.
She turned to a blank page.
At the top, she wrote:
"What makes a person real?"
She didn't have the answer.
But she had a feeling—
The spiral wasn't done with them.
Not yet.
Later that evening, the power flickered.
Just once.
But it was enough to cast the room into momentary darkness—and in that heartbeat of shadow, Emma saw something.
A shape behind Nora.
Not a reflection.
Not a trick of the light.
A double.
Gone the moment the light returned.
Nora didn't react.
Didn't blink.
Jessica was in the corner, frowning at a candle that had gone out.
Emma backed away, heart thudding.
Her hand went to the pendant.
Still warm. Still pulsing.
She stepped into the hallway, needing air, needing space.
The inn felt smaller tonight.
Walls too close.
Doors too many.
At the far end of the corridor, one door stood slightly open.
A room no one had entered before.
Emma stared.
Then slowly, the door creaked wider—
By itself.
Inside, darkness stirred.
She turned and walked away.
Not tonight.
She wasn't ready.
Not yet.
But she would be.