The air tastes like dry marble.
That is the first thing I recognize.
Not the impact.
Not the room.
Not the lime.
The smell.
As if I have been here before.
I remain still, staring at the wall.
The cracks look familiar.
Too familiar.
For a few seconds I assume it is a meaningless impression.
Then I notice something.
There is a new mark.
A thin vertical line hidden between two older fractures.
I do not remember seeing it before.
Yet I cannot remember when I last looked at that exact spot.
The observation unsettles me more than it should.
I lower my gaze.
The record is still open.
The final lines remain on the screen.
I expect to find the phrase.
It is not there.
I blink.
Scroll back.
Look again.
Still nothing.
For weeks it always appeared at the end.
Always.
A fixed component of the mechanism.
A signature.
A warning.
Now it is gone.
Its absence is harder to ignore than its presence ever was.
I keep reading.
There is a new note.
I do not remember seeing it before.
The note contains a single line:
“You already noticed it is missing.”
I remain motionless.
Not because the note exists.
But because it seems to answer the exact thought I just had.
I scroll upward.
I search for the date.
There is none.
I search for the file name.
There is none.
Instead I find a folder above the record.
I do not remember opening it.
Its name is short.
“BEFORE READING THIS”
I stare at it for several seconds.
I am certain it was not there.
Or I am certain I did not see it.
I am no longer sure which is true.
I open it.
Inside there is a single image.
A screenshot.
My screen.
This exact screen.
This exact document.
The difference takes a few seconds to reveal itself.
Then I find it.
The screenshot contains a line that does not yet exist.
A line located beneath the point I am reading now.
A line I have not reached yet.
I read it.
And for the first time I become worried about something other than the file.
The line says:
“You have just checked the screenshot for the second time.”
I have to move my neck…
