The Stranger Who Wore My Face 26
I gripped my phone tighter, my breath shallow. The thing—the other me—stood just a few steps away now. Close enough that I could see it more clearly.
Its skin was off. Too smooth, too stretched, as if it had been molded to look like me but never quite got it right.
“You’re remembering, aren’t you?” it said, still using my voice.
I shook my head. No. This was a trick. It had to be.
But then it laughed. Low and knowing.
And that’s when the memories hit me.
Not in flashes this time. In a flood.
A mirror. A hand reaching out. My own hand.
The feeling of falling—but never hitting the ground.
Waking up. Here. In this body.
My stomach twisted.
Had I really switched before? Had I taken this life from someone else?
The other me stepped closer, grinning wider now.
“You thought this was your first time?” It tilted its head, eyes gleaming. “You stole this body. Just like I’m about to.”
My chest tightened. No. No, that wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.
Could it?
I took a shaky step back. But then—it lunged.
I barely had time to react before cold fingers wrapped around my wrist.
And in that instant, I felt it—a pull.
Like something was yanking me out of my own skin.
Like I was falling again.
Like I was about to wake up in someone else’s place.
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The Stranger Who Wore My Face 26