The Reflection
1537 Words
The drive back to the safe house felt longer than it should have.
No one spoke.
The van’s engine hummed low, tires whispering against wet pavement, the city lights sliding past the windows in streaks of white and amber. Iris sat rigid in her seat, hands folded in her lap like she was afraid they might move on their own.
She could feel the others.
Three of them in the back—quiet, alert, pretending not to stare.
But they did.
Quick glances. Lingering looks. The kind that slid away the second she turned her head. Distrust sat heavy in the air, thick enough to taste. No one accused her of anything. No one needed to. The silence did the work for them.
Elias sat across from her, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn’t looked at her once since they left the corridor.
Alex drove.
He kept his eyes on the road, knuckles pale on the steering wheel.
Iris tried to focus on the rhythm of the van, the sway of motion, the proof that she was here, now—but her mind kept circling the same words.
We will find you. No matter what they call you.
075.
Dreams didn’t talk back.
Dreams didn’t know your number.
The van finally slowed. The safe house came into view—nondescript, forgotten, just another concrete building pretending to be empty. Alex pulled in, killed the engine.
No one moved right away.
Then doors opened. Boots hit pavement. The night air rushed in cold and sharp.
Inside, the safe house lights flicked on one by one, harsh after the dim glow of the van. The team filtered in, weapons lowered but not put away. Iris felt them spreading out instinctively, keeping distance. Not forming a circle—but close.
Elias shut the door behind them.
The sound echoed.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The safe house felt too bright, too quiet, like it was waiting to hear something it already knew. The hum of the lights filled the space where voices should have been.
Alex turned slowly, taking in the room—the team, the weapons still half-raised, the body language that hadn’t relaxed with the walls around them.
“All right,” he said. Calm. Measured. “Everyone breathe.”
No one did.
His gaze moved to Elias. “You called it a trap.”
Elias nodded once. “Because it was.”
Alex waited.
“He wasn’t there to stop us,” Elias continued. “He wasn’t guarding the relay. He didn’t even acknowledge the rest of us until it was over.”
One of the operatives shifted. “Then why engage at all?”
Elias’s jaw tightened. “Because she was there.”
The room reacted to that.
Not with words—just a subtle tightening. A collective recalibration. Eyes flicked, then settled on Iris again, this time without trying to hide it.
Alex followed their gaze.
“Iris,” he said. Not accusing. Not gentle. “What did he say to you. Exactly.”
Her throat felt dry.
“He said I was late,” she replied. “That I was precise. That Black Talon doesn’t like surprises.”
A beat.
“And then?” Alex asked.
She hesitated.
Elias noticed. “Then what.”
“He said they’d been looking for me,” she said quietly. “No matter what they call me.”
Silence fell harder this time.
Sadie, who’d been leaning against the far wall, straightened. “That’s not intel,” she said. “That’s psychological warfare.”
“Maybe,” Elias said. “But it wasn’t random.”
Alex studied Iris now, expression unreadable. “You’ve never worked for Black Talon,” he said. Not a question. A statement he wanted confirmed.
Iris opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Her thoughts felt scrambled—memories blurring at the edges, dreams pressing closer, suddenly loud enough to matter.
“I don’t remember anything before three years ago,” she said instead.
The words hung there.
Elias exhaled slowly. “And that,” he said, “is what doesn’t sit right anymore.”
That was when Iris felt it.
The shift inside her—not panic, not fear. Something colder. Heavier.
A possibility she hadn’t let herself touch.
Her hands curled slightly at her sides.
“What if…” Her voice wavered, then steadied. “What if I don’t remember because there’s something I wasn’t supposed to.”
Every eye in the room was on her now.
She lifted her gaze.
“What if Im a robot."
“What?”
“That’s not funny.”
“Are you serious right now?”
Iris forced herself to keep standing. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t remember. But what if I am?”
Alex turned fully toward her. “Iris.”
Alex turned fully toward her. “Iris.”
She shook her head, small at first, then harder, like she was trying to dislodge the thought and failing.
“No,” she said quickly. “No—listen. Things are starting to… to click together.”
Elias opened his mouth. Closed it again.
“The dreams,” Iris continued. Her voice was uneven now, but she didn’t stop. “The corridors. The missions. The way I move before I think. The way he knew me.”
She swallowed, breath catching.
“And the robot I fought.”
She turned suddenly, like the realization had just hit her—eyes snapping back to the room, to the memory of the body on the floor.
“We had the same blood,” she said.
The words landed wrong. Too quiet. Too sharp.
Dark red. Thick. Not human.
Sadie’s chair scraped violently across the floor as she stood.
“What,” Sadie said flatly, “did you just say.”
Iris looked at her, startled, like she hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “When he was hit,” she said. “When his armor split. It wasn’t… it wasn’t right. It looked like—”
“Stop,” Sadie snapped.
Alex lifted a hand, slow but firm. “Sadie.”
But Sadie didn’t sit back down.
“You’re real,” she said, eyes locked on Iris. “You bleed. You get hurt. You feel pain. Robots don’t—”
“I feel things,” Iris said softly. Too softly. “All the time.”
The room went still.
Elias stared at her, something fractured behind his eyes. “Iris,” he said, voice low, strained. “Robots don’t dream.”
Her mouth trembled.
“Then why do I?”
Keep this and Have Sadie grab her and say because your human.
Sadie moved before anyone could stop her and grabbed Iris by the front of her jacket, fingers fisting hard enough to wrinkle the fabric.
“Because you’re human,” Sadie said.
Not yelling. Not panicked.
Certain.
She shook Iris once—not violently, but firmly, like she was trying to force the words into her bones. “Because you’re flesh and blood and bone. Because machines don’t feel the way you’re feeling right now.”
Iris didn’t pull away.
Didn’t fight it.
She stood there, stunned, eyes wide, breath shallow, like Sadie’s grip was the only thing holding her upright.
“Humans dream,” Sadie went on, jaw tight. “Humans dissociate. Humans forget things when their minds can’t handle them. That doesn’t make you a weapon. It doesn’t make you a machine.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Alex stepped forward. “Sadie—”
“No,” Sadie said, not looking at him. “You don’t get to stand there and let this turn into something else.”
She loosened her grip just enough to look Iris in the eye. “You think you’re a robot because someone wanted you to,” she said. “Because they said the right things. Because they scared you.”
Iris swallowed. “He knew things.”
Sadie’s grip loosened, but she didn’t let go.
“He knew things,” Iris repeated, quieter now. “Things I have only been dreaming. Nothing is making sence."
Silence followed—thick, uncertain.
Alex looked around the room once more, measuring the damage that couldn’t be seen.
“This conversation is over for tonight,” he said. “No theories. No accusations.”
His eyes settled on Iris. “You’re exhausted."
Then to the team. “Everyone stands down.”
No one argued.
But no one relaxed either.
Elias stepped forward before anyone else could move.
“I’ll take her,” he said.
Alex looked at him. Held his gaze for a beat. Then nodded. “Get some rest,” he added, softer now. “Both of you.”
The team began to disperse—slowly, reluctantly. Weapons were finally secured. Chairs were pushed back into place. No one looked at Iris as they passed, not directly. That somehow felt worse.
Sadie released her completely.
For a moment, Iris swayed, like she’d forgotten how to stand without being held in place. Elias caught her elbow, steady but not restraining.
“This way,” he said quietly.
He didn’t touch her again until they reached the hallway.
- Writer
