Chapter 20 · Don't Trust the Guardian

The emergency lights made everything look like a crime scene. Red glow on white tile. Red glow on the blood message someone—something—had written on the floor in front of the break room door.

DON'T TRUST THE FILES.

Except it wasn't just written. It was fresh. Still wet at the edges. And I knew that handwriting.

Mom's.

"Layla." Kira's voice came from behind me, low and careful. "Step back from that."

I didn't move. Couldn't. My knees felt like they'd been unbolted. "You said the files were real. You said she died in the kitchen."

"She did."

"Then how is her blood on my floor right now?" I turned. Kira stood three feet away, one hand out like she was approaching a spooked animal. Her jacket was torn at the shoulder. Dark smudges under her eyes. She looked like she'd been awake for a week.

She looked guilty.

"It's not her blood," Kira said.

"It's her handwriting."

"It's mimicry. That's what the Echo does. It pulls memories, images, patterns. It makes you see what hurts most."

I laughed. It came out bitter and sharp. "Right. So this is fake. The voicemail was fake. The security footage—