"Sometimes, the mind rewrites reality to survive the weight of memory. Time is a thief, but memory is its accomplice."
---
The café looked exactly as Juno remembered it.
Tucked between a bookstore and a florist, The Clocktower was a cozy little spot with ivy creeping up its brick façade. Its sign, once painted gold, had faded over time, the letters worn but still legible. Through the windows, the warm glow of hanging Edison bulbs lit up the space, casting soft shadows across the mismatched wooden furniture.
The smell hit her first—coffee beans, cinnamon, and a faint trace of vanilla. It was the kind of comforting aroma that made the place feel timeless, as if it existed outside the chaos of the world.
Juno stood on the sidewalk for a moment, staring through the glass. She could see people inside, some bent over laptops, others chatting animatedly over steaming mugs. The laughter and quiet hum of conversation felt so normal it was disorienting.
Her hands trembled as she pushed open the door, the chime above jingling softly.
Inside, everything was as it should be—or rather, as it should have been. The polished counter gleamed under the soft lights, a chalkboard menu displayed the day's specials, and the barista behind the counter smiled at her with a polite nod.
The table.
Her eyes darted to the corner booth, tucked near the window. That was where it had happened—the exact spot where she, Maeve, and the twins had been sitting when the rift tore open reality. When time had frozen, the world had shattered, and her life had been upended.
But now?
Now, it was just a table.
Two strangers sat there, their heads close as they whispered to each other. Nothing about it suggested the horrors she remembered—the thunderwolf, the rift, the blinding light of the Aspect of Time. It was just… ordinary.
Juno's feet felt heavy as she approached the counter. "Uh, strawberry milkshake, please," she muttered to the barista, who nodded and went to work.
Her gaze flicked back to the corner booth.
Why wasn't this the place I woke up? she thought, settling into a seat by the window. Why the classroom? Why go through all that madness with Agredor, only to end up here?
The memory of that day played in her mind in vivid detail—the way Maeve's laugh had been cut short by the sound of tearing air, the panic in the twins' voices, the moment time had stopped and the Aspect of Time had spoken to her.
Her fingers brushed the edge of the table, tracing invisible patterns. She remembered gripping it tightly as the thunderwolf charged, its claws ripping through space itself.
But now… nothing.
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was old-fashioned, with ornate hands that ticked rhythmically around its face. For a moment, it seemed fine. Normal. But then she noticed it.
The second hand didn't move.
It hung there, suspended between seconds, as if frozen in time.
Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked, and the hand resumed its steady ticking, as though mocking her for even noticing.
Juno swallowed hard. The note in her dorm flashed in her mind: Memory is a prison. Do not trust it.
---
The barista then returned with her milkshake, setting it down with a friendly smile. "Here you go. Enjoy!"
"Thanks," Juno murmured.
The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "I didn't want any of this to happen."
The barista paused, their smile fading slightly. "Excuse me?"
Juno's cheeks flushed. "Oh, uh, nothing. I was just… thinking out loud." She waved a hand dismissively, but the barista tilted their head, curiosity lighting up their features.
"You know," they said slowly, "sometimes we don't get to choose what happens to us. Life doesn't ask for our permission. But it's not about what happens—it's about what we do with it. Even prisons have keys, if you look hard enough."
They shrugged and walked away, leaving Juno to stare at her milkshake.
Even prisons have keys.
She sipped the milkshake absently, her mind spinning. The barista's words felt like they meant something, like they were tied to everything that had happened—to Agredor, the frozen clock, the reflection in the mirror.
Was this what he meant? Was this his prison?
The bathroom was quiet, the sound of her footsteps muffled against the tiled floor. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. Her own face stared back, but now she could see it clearly—the wrongness.
Her reflection wasn't quite hers. The eyes were a shade too bright, the movements just slightly off, like a poorly synchronized projection.
She didn't know when she picked up the shard of broken glass, but now it was in her hand, sharp and glinting under the fluorescent lights.
Her fingers trembled as she pressed the edge against her wrist. The thought burned in her mind: If this is a prison, then maybe this is the way out.
But she couldn't do it.
Her hand fell limp, the shard clinking against the sink. "Coward," she whispered bitterly, tears stinging her eyes.
Frustration surged through her. With a cry, she hurled the shard at the mirror.
The glass shattered, spiderweb cracks spreading across the surface.
And then it happened.
The cracks shimmered, glowing faintly, and the reflection twisted, warped, until it wasn't her reflection anymore.
It was a scene.
A landscape of endless mirrors, each one reflecting something different—a memory, a moment, a possibility. In the center of it all stood a figure cloaked in shadow, its eyes burning with a pale, otherworldly light.
Agredor.
Juno's breath caught in her throat as the reflection rippled, drawing her in like a whirlpool. The room spun, and then—
Darkness.
Juno woke to suffocating darkness, her chest heaving as though she'd surfaced from drowning. She wasn't sure how long she had been unconscious—or even where she was.
Then came the pain.
A searing, blinding pain at her neck. Her hand flew to the spot, but there was nothing. No blood, no wound, no sign of the blade that had pierced her moments ago.
The darkness enveloped her once more.
When she opened her eyes again, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly. The smell of chalk dust and worn wood filled her nostrils.
She knew this place.
The classroom. She suddenly sat up.
Juno stood frozen in the aisle, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her voice, strained and trembling, still echoed in the quiet room.
The teacher—a graying, disinterested woman—arched an eyebrow. "Miss Luminara," she said, her tone edged with impatience, "sit down before I have to call your dean."
Juno couldn't sit. She couldn't even breathe properly.
She clutched the edge of her desk for support, her knees threatening to buckle. Her scarlet and black skirt rustled as she shifted. The uniform she hadn't worn in years felt too tight, too stifling, as if someone had stitched the fabric to her skin.
This isn't real.
"Juno!"
A voice, high-pitched and brimming with artificial cheer, cut through her spiral.
Her head snapped toward it.
Maeve.
Bright pink hair, bold lipstick, and an overenthusiastic smile stretched across her face. Maeve was leaning forward from her desk, her tone playful and mocking as always. But this was impossible. Yet this is all familiar.
But she always knew. Maeve had died.
"Earth to Juno! Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost," Maeve said, her tone half-mocking, half-concerned.
Before Juno could respond, a pair of identical voices joined in unison from the row behind her.
"Maybe she's finally cracked," said one.
"About time," said the other.
Riley and Theo.
They lounged in their seats, their matching grins sharp and wolfish, their blonde hair styled to perfection.
Juno's stomach churned. She had seen these three die—by the thunderwolf, inlcuding Riley and Theo. And yet, here they were, alive, acting as though nothing had happened, again.
Maeve leaned in closer, her brow furrowing. "Are you okay, Juno? You're acting super weird."
As she heard her familiar statement, Juno's voice caught in her throat. She stared at Maeve, at Riley and Theo, at the teacher who now tapped her pen impatiently on the desk.
The words came tumbling out.
"This already happened," Juno said, her voice trembling. "This exact moment. You're… you're playing a prank on me."
The room fell silent.
Maeve blinked, confusion flashing across her face. "Uh, what?"
Juno staggered back a step, her heart hammering in her chest.
"Miss Luminara! If you don't take your seat—" the teacher snapped, her voice sharp.
Juno froze.
Those words. She remembered them. The same tone, the same exact phrasing.
She bolted from the room before anyone could stop her.
The hallway stretched out before her like a tunnel, each step echoing louder than the last.
"Juno!" Maeve's voice rang out behind her.
Juno turned to see Maeve, Riley, and Theo stepping into the hallway. Maeve's concerned smile faltered as she got closer. "What's gotten into you? You're acting super weird."
Again, what she said too had already happened. Juno shook her head, retreating a step.
"I… I need to be alone," she said, her voice tight.
Before Maeve could respond, Juno turned and fled, her feet carrying her instinctively toward the bathroom.
The mirror was exactly as she remembered it—large, cracked along one corner, the glass slightly warped.
She stared at her reflection, willing it to betray something, anything, that would explain what was happening.
Her reflection stared back.
For a moment, it seemed normal. But then, there it was again—that split-second delay, the almost imperceptible lag as her reflection tilted its head.
Juno pressed her hands against the sink, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
"I'm not crazy," she whispered to herself. "This is real. It's happening."
Her mind raced as she tried to piece it all together. The classroom. The café. The clock. The dorm.
The clock.
She bolted upright. The clock in the classroom. The clock at the café. Both had been wrong—frozen, ticking strangely, out of sync.
But why did I rewind? Have I died? Why did I woke up again at the classroom and not 1 minute before that at the cafe? Perhaps...
Time isn't right. I'm not just remembering. I'm looping.
The realization hit her like a blow to the chest.
Someone had killed her at the café. That much she was certain of. But who? And why?
She couldn't stay here.
Juno returned to her dorm in a daze, her mind spinning with fragments of memories and half-formed theories.
The note was still on her desk, the same cryptic warning she'd found before: Memory is a prison. Do not trust it.
She sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes drawn to the clock on her nightstand. The hands ticked forward, but not evenly—they stuttered, pausing for a fraction of a second before leaping ahead.
Her stomach twisted.
I'm in a loop.
Her fingers tightened around the bedframe as the full weight of the realization settled over her. Someone had killed her. Someone at the café.
But who?
The clock's ticking grew louder, echoing in her ears like a drumbeat.