3

The apartment around me felt distant, a blur of muted furniture and dim lamplight.

Shadows pressed against the corners, stretching long fingers across the floor.

I exhaled sharply.

3:12 AM.

I hadn’t even noticed the time.

A shiver crawled down my spine, slow and deliberate, like a wet finger tracing my vertebrae.

The air had thickened, as if the walls were holding their breath.

Then—

A flicker in the mirror.

My pulse stuttered.

The full-length mirror stood against the wall, half-covered by a paint-streaked cloth.

In its reflection, my hunched figure was visible, shoulders tense, hair messy.

But something moved—just beyond me.

A shifting shadow.

A presence.

I turned sharply.

Nothing.

The room was empty.

My breathing hitched, too shallow, too quick.

The silence pressed in, thick and knowing.

Slowly, I turned back to the mirror.

The reflection stared back, unchanged.

Just me.

Alone.

But I wasn’t alone.

I could feel it.

A phantom weight, a presence pressing against the air itself, lingering just behind me—watching.

My skin prickled, my arms breaking into goosebumps.

The mirror caught the glow of my bedside lamp, casting a soft halo around the edges.

I knew I should look away, should tear the sheet over it, should—

A whisper slithered through the stillness.

My name.

I lurched back, knocking over a jar of brushes.

The clatter shattered the quiet, echoing through the room.

My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.

Nothing.

It’s nothing.

Shakily, I ran a hand over my face, smearing paint against my cheek.

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, drowning out the silence.

I wasn’t crazy.

I forced myself to my feet, ignoring the way my legs trembled.

The mirror gleamed in the dim light, an ordinary object reflecting an ordinary woman.

I turned away.

Even as I did, I swore I saw the shadow move again.

6

CASSIAN

She saw me.

Not fully.

Not yet.

But for a flickering second, her mind registered the presence lurking beneath her world.

I watched her flinch, watched the delicate tremble in her fingers as she clutched the brush like a lifeline.

Fear suited her.

She was unraveling.

I could taste it in the air—the salt of her sweat, the electric hum beneath her skin.

A masterpiece in progress.

She turned from the mirror, breath ragged, heart hammering like a creature caught in a snare.

I could have touched her then.

Could have pressed my lips against the fragile curve of her neck, let her feel how real I was.

But not yet.

Not yet.

Instead, I leaned into her ear, let my voice curl into the soft spaces of her mind.

“Lena.”

She jerked back, nearly tripping over her own feet.

Her gaze darted, wild, searching the room for something she couldn’t name.

Good girl.

She was starting to understand.

7

LENA

“I’m not crazy,” I whispered to myself, gripping the edge of the sink.

The fluorescent bathroom light buzzed, too bright against my skin.

I avoided my reflection, staring instead at the peeling wallpaper, at the hairline crack splitting the mirror’s surface.

I had been pushing too hard.

The stress.

The insomnia.

The accident.

That was all it was.

That’s what I told myself.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed it.

8

LENA

I sat curled in the farthest corner of the subway car, my fingers tangled in the frayed cuffs of my sweater.

I hadn’t realized I’d been picking at the threads until I saw the loose strands, unraveling like my nerves.

My stomach felt hollow, my skin too tight, as if something inside me was pressing outward, trying to escape.

Outside the scratched-up window, the city blurred past—dull gray buildings stacked like gravestones, shadowed alleys swallowing the weak morning light.

The weight in my chest hadn’t lifted since last night.

Since I’d seen it.

Since I’d heard it.

“Lena.”

The voice curled through my mind like a breath against my ear.

I sucked in a sharp inhale, gripping my wrist to keep my hands still.

You’re fine.

You’re just tired.

It’s nothing.

But it hadn’t felt like nothing.

 The whisper had been too close, too real, and when I turned—nothing.

Just my reflection in the mirror, staring back with wide, sleepless eyes.