Lyos Lever woke to the sound of distant thunder and the steady drip of rain against his window. For a moment, he lay perfectly still, uncertain if he was awake or trapped in another dream. The city outside was a blur of gray; his own reflection in the glass was little more than a shadow.

  He sat up slowly, every muscle aching from the ritual’s aftermath. His memory of the night before was fragmented: the chanting, the flickering candlelight, Liora’s desperate voice, and the cold, slick feeling of falling through glass. He could still feel the echo of the other Lyos’s eyes watching him from the darkness behind the mirror.

  Liora was asleep in the armchair across the room, her head resting against the back, a blanket draped over her shoulders. Lyos watched her for a moment, guilt and gratitude mingling in his chest. She had stayed, even as he slipped further from himself.

  He rose, careful not to wake her, and padded to the bathroom. The mirror above the sink was covered with a towel, but he hesitated before uncovering it. He needed to know if he was still himself.

  He peeled the towel away and stared at his reflection. For a long moment, nothing happened. His face looked drawn, pale, older than he remembered. He leaned closer, searching his own eyes for any hint of the other presence. The silence was thick, oppressive.

  Just as he turned away, he thought he saw his reflection blink a half-second too late. He froze, heart hammering, but when he looked again, it was gone. Only his own haunted eyes stared back.

  He covered the mirror and returned to the living room. Liora was awake now, rubbing her eyes.

  “Did you sleep?” she asked, voice rough.

  Lyos shook his head. “Not really. I keep seeing things. Even when I’m awake.”

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  Liora nodded, her expression serious. “We need answers. Mirelle said the Architect’s journal might help.” She handed him the battered book, its leather cover cracked and stained.

  They spent the morning poring over the journal. The Architect’s handwriting was cramped and erratic, the margins crowded with symbols and numbers. Again and again, the number 26 appeared, sometimes circled, sometimes underlined.

  The mirror mind is not a parasite, but a shadow. It learns from the host. It adapts. It is not evil, but it is hungry. To confront it is to confront oneself.

  Lyos shivered. “He knew what he was doing. He wanted to split himself, to live forever in the minds of others.”

  Liora frowned. “But why you? Why now?”

  Lyos shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was just…broken enough for it to get in.”

  A sudden knock at the door made them both jump. Lyos tensed, but Liora checked the peephole and let Soren in. He looked exhausted, rainwater dripping from his coat.

  “I found something,” Soren said, spreading out a stack of old newspaper clippings and foundation memos. “Every time someone reported seeing their own reflection move, it started with small things-lost time, strange dreams, a sense of being watched. Then it escalated. Violence. Disappearances. The last person before you…they vanished without a trace.”

  Lyos’s hands shook as he flipped through the articles. Each story was eerily similar to his own.

  “We need to stop this,” Liora said. “Before it takes you, too.”

  Soren nodded. “There’s one thing the Architect wrote-‘The shadow can be starved. It feeds on fear, isolation, and secrets. If you share everything, if you let others see you, it loses its grip.’”

  Lyos looked at his friends, the urge to hide his terror warring with the desperate need to survive. “Then I’ll tell you everything. No more secrets.”

  He began to speak, voice trembling as he recounted every blackout, every vision, every moment he felt the other Lyos pressing against the inside of his mind. Liora and Soren listened, never interrupting, their presence a fragile anchor in the storm.

  As the day faded into night, Lyos felt a strange lightness-a sense that, for the first time, he was not entirely alone in his struggle.

  But as he prepared for bed, he caught his reflection in the darkened window. For just an instant, the other Lyos smiled back at him, patient and hungry, a silent promise that the battle was far from over.