The alarm reads 6:14 a.m., Thursday. Maren already knows the rain starts at 6:51. She has watched it begin forty times now. Ward C smells like cleaner and cold coffee when she clocks in. Same chart. Same silent man in Bed 9 who hasn't woken in two years. She is wiping his arm when his fingers twitch and grab her wrist, hard. He has never moved before. "Day forty-one," he whispers. "Don't let it reset."

Instead of answering, Maren grabs her phone and starts filming Bed 9. If this is real, she wants proof she can watch after the reset. The man notices the camera and almost smiles. "Clever. But the loop doesn't save files," he says. "It only saves you. Why do you think you remember?"

Maren keeps filming and walks the ward, getting everything: the clock, the charts, Sol's face. "If files don't save, I'll memorize it," she says. Sol nods slowly. "Good. Memory is the only thing that crosses the reset. Now memorize this: under my mattress there's a key. Get it before 6:51."

Maren shoves her hand under the mattress and finds a cold metal key. "What does it open?" Sol's voice drops. "The panel behind my headboard. But listen: there are two switches. Green ends the loop gently. Red ends it fast but might erase the people still sleeping in it. Choose right." The clock reads 6:48.