Silence stretched between them as they took in their surroundings. The contrast between the decayed studio they had just left and this pristine recording space was jarring. The air smelled faintly of wood polish and fresh paper, the scent of a place well-maintained, untouched by time.
"What just happened?" Niall's voice was barely more than a whisper.
Liam shook his head. "I don't know."
Harry turned in a slow circle, taking everything in. The walls were lined with shelves filled with old vinyl records, their spines neatly arranged. A glass window separated the control room from the recording booth, where a row of high-quality microphones stood ready.
"This place is... perfect," Louis said, stepping forward cautiously. He placed a hand on the sleek mixing console, as if testing whether it was real. The buttons, sliders, and glowing LED screens all felt solid beneath his touch.
"It doesn't make sense," Zayn murmured. "One second, we're in that wreck of a studio, and the next..."
"We're here," Harry finished.
His eyes landed on a small table near the window. A CD sat there, identical to the one they had just played, except this one was pristine—no scratches, no fading ink. The title was crystal clear: **Remember.**
Harry swallowed hard. "It's the same disc."
Louis frowned. "But... it can't be."
Zayn reached out and picked up the case, flipping it open. Inside, instead of the cryptic message they had seen before, there was a neatly printed tracklist. The last song on the list caught his eye:
**Track 12: The Last Recording**
"We need to play it," Liam said.
Harry hesitated, his fingers hovering over the play button on the control panel. Something inside him screamed that this was important—maybe even the key to everything. He pressed play.
A low hum filled the studio, followed by a quiet inhale. Then, a voice—Harry's voice.
"This is the final recording. If we're listening to this, it means we're stuck again."
The five of them exchanged uneasy glances.
Harry's recorded voice continued. "We tried to break the cycle before, but we didn't finish the song. If we don't complete it, we forget. And if we forget... we start over."
Louis took a step back. "What cycle? What is this talking about?"
The recording crackled slightly, then resumed. "Every time, we wake up in the cabin. Every time, we find the map, the CD case. Every time, we come here. But we never finish the song. We get this far, and then something stops us. We forget. We start over."
Harry felt his blood run cold. "We've done this before."
The message continued. "We have to remember. The music is the key. Finish the song, and we break the loop."
The recording cut out.
Silence fell over them like a heavy blanket.
Niall was the first to speak. "So... we're trapped? In some kind of loop?"
Zayn ran a hand through his hair. "That's what it sounds like."
"But why?" Louis asked, voice tight. "Why us? And why music?"
Harry stared at the control panel. "I don't know. But we have to try. If we've been here before, if we've failed before... this time, we have to finish it."
Liam pointed to the tracklist. "The last song. That's the one we need to complete."
They hesitated for only a moment before moving as if guided by instinct. Instruments were already in place—guitars, a drum set, keyboards. It was as if the studio had been waiting for them.
Harry took a deep breath and stepped toward the microphone. The others followed, taking their places.
As soon as Harry reached for the headphones, the lights in the studio flickered. A low hum reverberated through the room, like an unseen presence shifting, waiting.
Harry turned to the others. "Ready?"
They nodded.
He pressed record.
The moment the first note played, something in the air changed. The walls of the studio seemed to pulse, reality itself wavering like ripples in water. A flood of images rushed through Harry's mind—flashes of past attempts, glimpses of themselves playing this same song before, always stopping, always forgetting.
Not this time.
They played. The melody, haunting yet familiar, filled the room. Words spilled from Harry's lips, lyrics he didn't remember writing but knew in his heart. The others followed seamlessly, their instruments blending together as if they had rehearsed this a hundred times before.
And maybe they had.
As they reached the final chorus, the studio lights pulsed brighter. The walls trembled. The music built to a crescendo—
And then, silence.
The world around them blurred.
The pristine studio faded, dissolving into light. The air shimmered like heat rising off pavement. The sound of their own breathing grew distant—
And then everything went black.
### ***
When Harry opened his eyes, he was lying on the floor of the cabin.
The old wooden beams stretched above him, the musty scent of decay filling his nostrils. The others groaned as they stirred awake beside him.
Louis sat up first, looking around. "What the—?"
Harry's pulse raced. He turned his head and saw it—
The CD case.
It sat in the center of the room, dusty and empty, just like before.
Niall exhaled shakily. "No. No, we did it. We finished the song."
Liam looked at the case, then at the others. "Then why are we back?"
Harry reached for the case with trembling fingers. He flipped it open.
Inside, where there had been nothing before, was a small slip of paper.
Scrawled in shaky handwriting were three words:
**One more time.**