A message popped up in the search bar, typing itself out letter by letter:

She never should have searched for the mirror. Because a mirror doesn’t just show you what’s there. Sometimes, it shows you what’s waiting to take your place.

Anya leaned closer. The figure in the feed leaned closer too, at the exact same moment.

“Thank you for finding me. I’ve been here since 2018. Don’t close the tab. If you close the tab, we swap.”

Her regular Netflix account had been acting strange. New horror movies would appear, ones with posters that seemed to shift when she looked away. A documentary about lucid dreaming had played for three seconds before glitching into static, and for a fleeting moment, she could have sworn she saw herself on screen—sitting in her chair, watching herself.

She clicked.

Anya’s hand flew to the mouse. But she froze. Behind the crying man, in the doorway of his room, a shadow moved. A silhouette that matched her own.

The glow of the laptop screen painted pale blue stripes across Anya’s face. It was 2:00 AM, and the silence of her studio apartment was broken only by the hum of the old refrigerator. She typed into the search bar: netflix mirror -androforever