Scene: “The Door She Wasn’t Supposed to Find” (Rewritten Rescue Version)

The air turned colder the deeper Ivanna moved beneath the soundstage. Past the prop cages. Past the vault no one mentioned. Past the silence they pretended wasn’t there.

A hidden lock blinked behind a false panel, faint and pulsing—like a dying signal. Her fingertips hovered, then pressed. It recognized her.

The vault hissed open. Metal groaned like it didn’t want to let go.

Beyond it: shadows. And something worse than dark.

It wasn’t an empty storage unit. It was a holding cell.

And in the center—her. Curled up, bones sharp against her own skin. Her past self. Starved. Silent. Shackled in memory.

She wore the same black-and-silver blouse from the test screenings, but now it hung off her like paper soaked through with blood and neglect. Her lips were cracked, her breath almost soundless. But her eyes—those hollow green eyes—opened the second Present Ivanna stepped in.

No fear. Just recognition. Like she’d been waiting.

Ivanna didn’t stop to speak. She crossed the room fast, her boots echoing against concrete. One knee dropped. She pulled off her coat and wrapped it around the trembling figure without hesitation.

“You should’ve never been left here.”

The past Ivanna blinked slowly, unable to speak, but she leaned into the warmth like instinct.

“They locked you away when you got too close to the truth,” Present Ivanna murmured, unfastening the wrist restraints with one hand, “but I found the door. And I’m not leaving you behind.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Not hesitation—just the gravity of returning to yourself.

“You weren’t broken,” she whispered. “You were buried.”

Their hands met, fingers laced. And in that moment, something ancient cracked open— Not power reclaimed. But a promise made flesh.

Ivanna lifted her past self in her arms and turned her back to the vault.

Let it close. Let it rot.

She was never going back.