"American Girls"

The weather had turned unnervingly bright. The sun burned high and hard over the New River Path, in a washed-out sky that made everything look slightly unreal. The wind was cold, slicing across the water, carrying the smell of wet concrete and early blossom from the estate trees.

Sam and Olivia walked along the path in silence, their shadows long and thin on the pavement. Sam’s jacket flapped in the wind, the zip rattling softly. Olivia kept her hands tucked up in her sleeves, her hair flying loose, her eyes scanning the water, the towers, the bridge ahead.

Harry was already there, waiting on the footbridge. He stood leaning on the railing, his camera hanging from his neck, the sunlight reflecting from its lens in sharp, intermittent flashes. He looked like he’d been hanging about a long time; his posture too still and composed, as if he were preparing for their appearance.

Olivia slowed, though Sam didn’t.

Harry turned when they reached him. “You found me,” he said.

Olivia shook her head. “You wanted to be found.”

Harry gave the lightest shrug and didn’t deny it. The sun emblazoned the water with bright, fractal waves. A group of teenagers walked past, filming each other and laughing too loudly. A cyclist swerved around them, muttering under his breath. A woman live-streamed her walk, narrating the weather like it was a personal revelation.

Harry watched them all with the wary attention of someone who’d spent too long behind a lens.

Sam leaned in closer. “We need to talk.”

Harry adjusted his camera strap; a nervous gesture he employed to buy time. “About what?”

Olivia leaned on the railing beside him. “About the footage.”

Harry relaxed his jaw. “Which footage?”

Sam pulled a small device from his pocket: the cracked phone Taylor had shown them. He held it out.

Harry didn’t touch it.

“You’ve seen this,” Sam said.

Harry looked away. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell us,” Olivia added.

Harry exhaled slowly. “I didn’t know how.”

Sam unlocked the phone and opened the video file: Rain. Night. The reservoir path. The woman walking. Same pace, same posture, same half-turn at the end.

Harry watched the screen without reacting. When the clip ended, he closed his eyes briefly, as if to centre himself.

Olivia studied him. “This wasn’t part of the project you filmed.”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“But it uses your material,” Sam said.

Harry nodded once. “Yes.”

Olivia edged closer. “So who’s reconstructing it?”

Harry didn’t answer.

Sam’s voice sharpened. “You know.”

Harry opened his eyes. The sunlight caught them in a way that made him look both older and younger, like someone caught between different versions of himself.

“I know who started it,” he said quietly. “I don’t know who’s finishing it.”

Olivia frowned. “Explain.”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t.”

Sam stepped uncomfortably closer. “You mean you won’t.”

Harry didn’t have the will to argue. A sudden gust cut across the bridge, rattling the metal railing and sending ripples across the reservoir. The sunlight flickered on the water like guttering candle flames.

Harry gripped the railing. “She wasn’t supposed to disappear.”

Olivia’s voice softened. “Lille.”

Harry flinched at the name. “She trusted us.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “She trusted you.”

Harry couldn’t deny it.

Olivia watched him carefully. “And now Raye is in the same pattern.”

Harry swallowed. “Yes.”

Sam’s voice was low. “And you didn’t warn her.”

Harry looked at the water. “I didn’t want to drag her into it.”

Olivia shook her head. “She’s already in it.”

Harry closed his eyes again. “I know.”

A bus rumbled across the bridge in the distance. A dog barked somewhere across the estate. The wind carried the sound of music booming from a passing car: bright and restless, too loud for the quiet path.

Harry opened his eyes. “They’re not trying to replace her.”

Sam frowned. “Then what?”

Harry looked at him; really focused on his face, like he was adjusting a lens. “They’re trying to complete her.”

Olivia’s breath caught. “Complete who?”

Harry didn’t answer, so Sam butted up close to his chest. “Say it.”

Harry’s voice was barely audible. “Lille.”

The wind dropped suddenly, leaving a strange stillness on the bridge.

Olivia spoke first. “So Raye is...”

Harry cut her off. “She’s the next iteration.”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “And you let it happen.”

Harry didn’t move. “I didn’t know until it was too late.”

Olivia studied him. “And is it still too late now?”

Harry didn’t have an answer. The sun slipped behind a cloud, dimming the harsh light. The reservoir darkened. The wind eased.

Harry stepped back from the railing. “I need to tell her.”

Sam nodded. “Yes.”

Olivia added, “And we need to be there.”

Harry looked at them; wary and resigned, with something like relief flickering across his face.

“Monday,” he said.

Sam nodded. “Monday.”

Olivia touched his shoulder lightly. “This is the last chance to break the pattern.”

Harry looked out at the water, at the long, distorted reflections of the towers. “No,” he said quietly. “It’s the last chance to understand it.”