Chapter 3: Under the Surface

Chapter 3: Under the Surface

The mirror crack had deepened overnight. It wasn't dramatic — just a hairline fracture crawling along the glass like a spider's leg — but Aria noticed it the second she walked past. Something about it looked… wrong. It hadn't been there yesterday. She paused, backpedaled, and stared.

The glass caught the early gray light filtering through her half - shut blinds, making the crack shimmer slightly. Cold. Too cold. She pressed her fingertip to the glass and flinched. The chill bit deeper than it should've. Not like a draft. More like a warning.

She stepped away and tried to shake it off. Maybe she'd just slept like garbage again. The kettle on her stove hissed but never quite whistled, like it knew she wasn't paying attention. She poured hot water into her chipped mug and forgot the tea bag, standing in the kitchen with both hands wrapped around the cup, the steam fogging her glasses. Dominic's cat, Piper, rubbed against her ankle with a meow that sounded less hungry and more uneasy. Aria scratched behind her ears without looking down.

There was that hum again. Faint. Deep in the walls, maybe. Like something enormous turning over in the basement of the city itself.

She blinked, snapped out of it, and went to get dressed. Her phone buzzed with two unread messages from Jules and one calendar reminder she didn't remember setting: "You are not alone."

Weird.

Outside, the rain was light but steady, tapping rhythmically on her umbrella as she walked. The city felt strange. People moved a little too slow. Everyone's eyes were just slightly unfocused. A guy in a hoodie stopped at the crosswalk and stared at the sky for a full minute without blinking. Aria passed him quickly, tucking her hands in her jacket. The clouds above were churning low, like a storm had forgotten how to break.

At the bookstore, the front light flickered once when she unlocked the door. Then again when she stepped inside. The air was stale in a way it had never been before, like the whole shop had held its breath while she was gone. Shelves creaked softly behind her as she turned on the desk lamp. She froze. A stack of books near the window was toppled — somehow all collapsed outward in a perfect spiral. No wind. No draft. Just… rearranged.

She picked up the top book. Dreams in the Soil. She didn't remember shelving this. Its leather cover was warm in her hands. Almost too warm. She opened it, just to check for a bookmark or maybe a library stamp, but instead found one handwritten line in faded ink:

Things grow where they are called. Even if they shouldn't.

She closed it fast, heart skipping. A chill slid down her spine, and she placed the book on the counter like it might bite.

The rest of the day blurred. A few regulars drifted in but didn't stay long. One woman asked for a book that didn't exist. Another came to return one Aria had never loaned. The doorbell kept ringing even when the door wasn't moving. She kept checking behind her.

By the time she locked up, her chest felt tight. She stepped out into dusk, the city glowing in a flickering wash of neon and haze. Her apartment was dim when she entered. She didn't remember turning off the lights. Piper sat on the table, tail flicking. Her eyes were locked on something in the hallway. Aria turned.

There was a flower blooming out of the wall.

Just one. Bright crimson. Small, delicate petals pushing out from the drywall like it had been growing there for years.

She stared at it for a long time. Then stepped forward. Its stem was thin and curling, rooted in nothing. No soil. No moisture. She reached out, hovered her fingers near it — didn't touch. It moved slightly, responding to her presence.

She backed up. Went to the bathroom. Stared at the mirror again.

The crack had spread. Her reflection was smiling.

She wasn't.

She didn't move. But her reflection raised one eyebrow.

"Almost ready," it mouthed.

She ran. Straight out of the bathroom, chest pounding, breath stuck somewhere in her throat. Piper yowled and followed her into the living room. Aria dropped to her knees and pressed her palms flat to the floor, like grounding herself would keep her sane.

She stayed like that for a while. Eventually, her heart stopped racing. She didn't turn the lights back on. She just sat on the floor in the dark with Piper curled next to her and let the weight of something shift above her, behind her, inside her.

When her phone buzzed again, it was from Jules.

"You seeing weird shit? Because the library's leaking moss from the air vents."

She replied instantly. "Meet me at the shop tomorrow. Bring gloves."

The next morning, everything was slightly worse. Another flower had bloomed in the corner of her bedroom. The mirror showed a newer crack. The book she'd left on the counter had opened itself, pages fluttering like breath. Her phone was glitching, notifications coming in reversed text or garbled fonts. The news played quiet in the background — mentioning unexplained plant growth near subway grates and along old rail lines.

By the time Jules arrived, the bookstore's air smelled different. Wetter. Not mold. Not rot. Just… new earth. Like something had broken through the surface and was stretching toward light.

Jules stood in the doorway, blinking like she'd walked into a fever dream. "That's a flower. On your ceiling."

"Yeah. There's four now."

They examined Dreams in the Soil again. Jules didn't want to touch it. Aria did anyway, gloved fingers on the pages. The book's roots had started to extend — thin white strands like veins trailing across the counter, reaching toward the window where another flower now leaned.

Jules cleared her throat. "We need to document this."

"We need to figure out if it's spreading," Aria said. "I don't think we're the only ones."

She looked pale. "My roommate saw something in the mirror yesterday. Said it blinked at him before he did."

Her stomach dropped. "Yeah. I think the reflections are watching us now."

She wanted to sound like she was joking. She wasn't.

Later, when Niko joined them, he brought a handheld scanner. Said it was something his brother left behind from an old job testing EMF fields. The readings around the flowers pinged high. The mirror nearly shorted the whole device.

Aria stood still, staring at her reflection.

It didn't move. It didn't smirk.

It just waited.

She stepped closer and whispered, "What are you?"

No answer. Just her own breath fogging the surface — and then clearing in a perfect circle, like something exhaled back.

She didn't sleep that night. The hum was louder now, beneath the floor. Piper refused to go near the mirror. Aria curled up on the couch with every light on and watched the flowers. At 3:12 a.m., one of them bloomed wider and let out a sound. A tiny, glassy chime. Like the beginning of a lullaby.

By morning, the bookstore was no longer pretending.

Books shifted on their own shelves. Titles changed when she wasn't looking. The register printed out a receipt for The Blooming Path: One Copy Sold. She didn't sell anything.

People online had started posting photos. Hashtags like #CrimsonSprawl and #RootSignal were trending. Someone claimed the flowers had shown up inside a locked train car. Another said they'd seen a stranger with no reflection.

In the middle of sorting inventory, her phone vibrated with a new alert.

CITY ALERT: UNREGISTERED PLANT GROWTH ZONES IDENTIFIED — STAY CLEAR OF BLOOM SITES

Her heart slammed once against her ribs, then stayed suspended.

She looked at Jules. She was already reading the same alert. Neither of them said anything.

Niko swore softly under his breath.

Outside, thunder rolled. But no rain followed. Just pressure.

Later that day, a customer stepped in and paused in the doorway. Young, maybe twenty. Messy hair, huge coat. They looked around slowly. Their pupils were blown wide.

"It's quieter in here," they said, like they were relieved.

Aria nodded. "Yeah."

They pointed toward the mirror. "That thing doesn't like me. I see it in my dreams."

She didn't ask what they meant. They bought nothing. They just stood for a while, then left.

By the time dusk hit, the flowers had grown taller. Crimson petals opened toward her whenever she walked near. Not aggressive. More like recognition.

She stared at the mirror one last time before closing. The cracks were thicker now, webbing across the surface like veins under skin.

Her reflection met her gaze.

This time, it whispered — barely audible.

"Bloom."

She closed her eyes. Felt it in her chest like a drumbeat. Something ancient, crawling, rising through soil, through concrete, through thought.

She opened her eyes. Still herself.

But not untouched.

And deep under the city, whatever was beneath it all stirred again.

Not impatient.

Just… waiting.