Jane tried her keys three times before she accepted that the door was not going to open.

  The lock turned partway, then stopped with a stubborn mechanical finality that suggested it had made a decision. She pulled the key out and examined it like it might have changed shape while she wasn’t looking.

  Same key. Same dents. Same cheap metal bend from the time she’d dropped it on the pavement and pretended it was fine.

  “You’re the same key,” Jane told it. “Don’t gaslight me.”

  She tried again.

  Nothing.

  Jane stepped back and looked at the building properly.

  Same brown brick. Same scratched glass. Same laminated notice about bins taped crookedly beside the entrance.

  Everything said this was her building.

  The door disagreed.

  “That’s new,” Jane said to no one. “And rude.”

  She reached into her bag and pulled out the tablet.

  BATTERY: 95%

  “It’s you, isn’t it,” she said. “You’ve decided doors are optional.”

  She tapped the screen.

  A panel slid up.

  ANCHOR QUALITY: LOW

  REFERENCE STATE: APPROXIMATE

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Approximate,” Jane repeated. “Love that. Very reassuring word.”

  She tried the door one more time.

  The lock turned smoothly.

  The handle went down.

  The door opened.

  Jane blinked.

  “Oh,” she said. “So now we’re cooperating.”

  She stepped inside.

  The corridor smelled wrong.

  Cleaner than it should have been. Not fresh, just… corrected. The damp undertone that usually clung to the carpet was gone, replaced with something vaguely citrus that felt like an apology.

  Jane sniffed.

  “Did you redecorate,” she asked the ceiling, “or is this a new reality setting.”

  The noticeboard had changed.

  Same cork. Same position.

  Different flyers.

  Jane stopped.

  She leaned closer, reading them as if one might explain itself.

  “Okay,” she said. “So it’s still the building. Just… not my week.”

  The lights flicked on automatically as she moved.

  They had never done that before.

  Jane froze.

  “Oh no,” she said quietly. “Do not start anticipating my needs. We are not there.”

  She climbed the stairs.

  Second floor. Same scuffed banister. Same crack in the wall shaped vaguely like Wales.

  She paused.

  “Still Wales,” she muttered. “Good. That would’ve been too much.”

  She stopped outside her flat.

  The door was the right colour.

  The number was correct.

  She slid the key in.

  This time it went in too easily.

  Jane frowned.

  “That’s suspicious,” she said. “You don’t usually agree with me that fast.”

  She turned it.

  The lock clicked open.

  Jane hesitated.

  Then she pushed the door open.

  Her flat was there.

  All of it.

  Couch. Table. Chair with the coat she never hung up. Shoes by the door in the wrong order because she never put them away properly.

  Jane stepped inside slowly.

  “Well,” she said. “You didn’t commit identity theft. That’s something.”

  The air felt settled.

  Not welcoming. Not hostile.

  Decided.

  Jane closed the door behind her.

  The click sounded final.

  She winced.

  “Oh no,” she said. “That sounded permanent.”

  She dropped her bag on the table and pulled the tablet out again.

  BATTERY: 94%

  “That’s not fair,” Jane said. “I walked upstairs. That’s a normal human activity.”

  She tapped the screen.

  Another panel appeared.

  REFERENCE STATE RECONCILIATION

  ACCESS EVENTS LOGGED

  Jane laughed once, sharp.

  “You’re logging my keys now,” she said. “Do you want my PIN too or should I just volunteer it.”

  She scrolled.

  A new line sat at the bottom.

  RESIDENCE: PROVISIONAL

  Jane stared.

  “No,” she said. “Absolutely not.”

  She looked around her flat again.

  Everything was correct.

  That was the problem.

  “This isn’t my place,” she said aloud. “It’s my place-shaped object.”

  She walked to the window and looked out.

  The street was the same.

  The shop across the road had a different sign.

  Just a different font.

  Jane squinted.

  “Why is it always fonts,” she said. “Who changes a font.”

  She checked the tablet again.

  ANCHOR QUALITY: LOW

  LOCAL STABILITY: IMPROVING

  “Improving for who,” Jane asked. “Because I would like to lodge a complaint.”

  She walked back to the door and opened it.

  The corridor outside felt looser.

  Less decided.

  Jane stepped back into the flat.

  The pressure returned immediately.

  She shut the door carefully and leaned her forehead against it.

  “…okay,” she said. “So home costs extra.”

  The tablet chimed softly in her hand.

  Not a warning.

  A confirmation.

  ---

  REFRAME

  Jane thought she needed a second chance.

  She actually needed a locksmith.