The pool is full but the swimmer is missing

I'm standing at the deep end and the water is perfectly still, glassy, the kind of flat that only happens when nobody's been in for days. I dive in and the echo comes back wrong—my splash sounds like someone else's, a rhythm I recognize but can't place. The lane lines are all pulled to one side like a combed part, and I keep treading water waiting for the 90-minute regular to surface, but the clock on the wall just spins its hands backwards. That's it, that's the whole dream—I never get out, just float there in the blue hum, listening for a breath that won't come.