His Mask, My Sin
he snarls, voice layered, distorted, “would be a great time.”
“For what?!” I scream.
Ezra’s eyes flash—not blue anymore, but something darker, deeper, like a storm rolling in behind them.
He bares his teeth.
And speaks a word that does not belong to any language I know.
The air splits.
Literally.
The space beside Ezra fractures like glass, peeling back to reveal darkness beneath—and from it steps the masked man.
Fully formed.
Solid.
Real.
He moves in perfect synchronization with Ezra, like a reflection stepping out of a mirror. Same height. Same build. Same presence. The smooth black mask hides his face, but I feel his attention snap to me instantly.
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