Room 220 was not a room. It was a hall. Mirrors on every wall. Floor to ceiling. Reflecting until I couldn't tell which image was me and which was someone else.Seven women. Same height. Same face. Different ages. All her.They stood in a circle. Facing inward. Breathing synchronized.I stepped inside. The door closed. No handle."You came," the youngest said. "We've been waiting.""I came.""You want to save her," the middle one said. "The fragment. The one on the beach.""I want—" I stopped. Didn't know."You want to be the hero," the oldest said. "The witness who saves. But that's just another way of disappearing.""Stop," I said.They stopped. Turned. Seven identical faces. Seven expressions. Fear. Hope. Anger. Nothing. Everything."You're not her," I said. "Any of you. You're what she made. She's on the beach. Dying. While you breathe together.""We are her," the youngest said. "The distributed self. The solution to being one person. One can die. Many survive.""Then why do you ne
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