Mary was just about to leave work after another grueling, endless day, the fluorescent lights humming overhead like an accusing presence. She glanced at her watch, her thoughts racing—“I’ve been on my feet all day; it’s been a nightmare.” The exhaustion in her bones was matched only by a growing unease gnawing at her insides. But as she reached for her bag, ready to escape, her coworker’s mother materialized in the hallway, blocking her path with an unsettling smile. The small talk became a trap; Mary felt her hope for freedom slip away with every passing second.

Time passed slowly, each minute seemingly more burdensome than the previous one. Mary experienced increasing impatience and anxiety while waiting, occasionally glancing over her shoulder in anticipation of someone’s arrival. Meanwhile, her coworker’s mother continued to speak, apparently unaware of the atmosphere, as her ongoing conversation filled the otherwise empty corridor. Attempting to indicate her need to move on, Mary pointed at her watch, but the discussion persisted, resulting in her sitting down and suppressing her discomfort. Despite her efforts, Mary sensed an unnerving certainty that something was amiss, as if she were reliving a troubling memory.

Then, as the air grew thick and oppressive, Mary noticed a figure slip into the room—a man in a black hoodie, his face lost in shadow. Her pulse hammered in her ears. He walked straight for her, his hand vanishing into his pocket. Mary’s breath caught; dread rooted her to the spot. Instead of the violence she braced for, he pressed a crumpled note into her trembling hands. With icy fingers, Mary unfolded it, revealing a message scrawled in an unsteady hand: “You’ve already changed the outcome.” The man’s eyes glinted with something ancient and knowing before he vanished, swallowed by the gloom of the hallway. Mary checked herself, half-expecting blood or pain, but she was unharmed—at least for now.

The following evening, as darkness crept across the office windows, Mary’s chest tightened at the sight of her coworker’s mother approaching again. This time, icy fear propelled her actions—she forced a smile, nodded, and hurried out the door before the cycle could begin anew. Outside, the world felt warped, streets stretching into shadow. Across the road stood the man in the black hoodie, his gaze pinning her in place. He raised a hand in silent farewell, and as he dissolved into the night, the oppressive sense of déjà vu finally loosened its grip. Yet, as Mary walked away, she couldn’t help but wonder if the nightmare was truly over—or if some shadow still lingered, watching, waiting for its next chance.

The next evening, Mary found herself retracing the same weary steps through the sterile halls. The fluorescent lights flickered, humming just as they had before, and again, her coworker’s mother materialized with that same peculiar smile. Déjà vu gripped Mary, stronger this time; every word, every gesture felt eerily familiar. The air thickened as the small talk dragged on, her anxiety mounting with each passing moment. She checked her watch and, just like before, the conversation refused to end, anchoring her in place.

Suddenly, the figure in the black hoodie appeared at the very moment she remembered from the night before. His movements mirrored the previous encounter, hand buried in his pocket. But this time, when he handed her the note, she hesitated, feeling a wave of icy recognition. The message was the same: “You’ve already changed the outcome, this time.” As the man melted into the shadows once more, Mary stood frozen, her reality looping in a silent warning. Something had shifted—yet the cycle persisted, urging her to look deeper for the break in the pattern.