Maya stood in front of the mirror that hung loosely in the hallway of the cottage. The glass was foggy from age, but something stirred within her as she stared at her own reflection—something unfamiliar. Her hand moved without thinking, brushing the surface.
A flicker.
A vision?
For a split second, her reflection wasn't her—it was a girl in a lab coat, wires on her temple, a cold room behind her. Then it was gone.
She staggered back. "I saw something. Again."
Daniel, who had been reviewing a stack of maps and old documents, looked up. "You're remembering faster now. The triggers—they're responding to your environment."
"What does that even mean?" Maya snapped, her voice sharper than she intended.
Daniel approached calmly. "It means your mind is waking up. But not just to memories—to abilities."
She blinked. "Abilities?"
He hesitated, then reached into a small locked box and pulled out a photograph. It was of her—maybe age ten—holding a pencil in midair. Not with her hand. With her mind.
"No," she whispered.
"Yes," he confirmed. "They didn't just study you. They trained you. Controlled you. But those skills—they were yours before them. That's why you survived."
Maya sat slowly. Her head throbbed, but her heartbeat steadied. Her breathing slowed.
And then—her tea cup lifted from the table, just a few inches, shaking slightly… before it dropped back down.
Her eyes filled with terrified awe.
Daniel smiled. "You're stronger than you know."