Reflective Time

Nine minutes isn’t time.

It’s a weapon.

The door closed behind Sienna with a soft, almost polite click, and the silence that followed felt engineered—too clean, too intentional. My instincts screamed at me to move, to chase her, to break every rule they’d set.

Instead, I stood there, staring at the message glowing on my phone.

Unknown Number: I can stop her. But you have to trust me.

Trust.

I’d built my entire life on never needing it.

I glanced at my watch.

08:41

I moved.

Not toward the door.

Toward the wall.

My hand slid along the cold surface until I found it—the faint seam, barely visible unless you knew where to look. I pressed my palm flat, pulse pounding, and waited.

Nothing.

I tried again, slower this time. A fraction of pressure more.

The wall shifted.

Just enough.

Behind it, a narrow access panel slid open, revealing a dim corridor that wasn’t on any blueprint we’d ever approved. Sylvia’s handiwork, if I had to guess. She loved contingency plans that didn’t ask permission.

M