She didn’t remember making the promise, but her signature was there all the same. It was at the bottom of a video file labeled simply: Watch me. Her hands trembled as she pressed play. The woman on the screen looked exhausted. Pale. Frightened. But it was her. “If you’re seeing this,” the recording began, “it means I went through with it.” “With what?” she whispered. The version of her on screen swallowed hard. “I erased my memory,” she said. “Because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to do what comes next.” A chill spread through her chest. “What comes next?” The woman hesitated, then forced a small, shaky smile. “You’ll figure it out,” she said. “You always do.” “That’s not helpful,” she muttered. The recording continued. “There’s something you have to stop. And you can’t hesitate.” Images flashed briefly—blurred, distorted, but unmistakably violent. Her breath caught. “No,” she said. “I wouldn’t—” “You already did,” the recording interrupted softly. Silence followed. The screen went black. She sat there for a long moment, staring at her own reflection. At the version of herself who had trusted her to finish this. To follow through. Slowly, she stood. Whatever happened next, it would no longer be an accident.