Lyos Lever barely remembered falling asleep, but the dreams came anyway-vivid, suffocating, and real. He was running through a labyrinth of mirrors, each surface reflecting a different version of himself. Some were screaming, some were silent, and some smiled with that cold, predatory satisfaction. No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t escape their gaze.

  He woke with a gasp, drenched in sweat. The room was dark, the only light coming from the city’s distant glow. He sat up, heart pounding, and looked for the scarf that should have covered the mirror on his desk. It was gone.

  His reflection stared back at him, perfectly still, perfectly Lyos-except for the eyes. They were too bright, too knowing.

  He turned away, refusing to meet that gaze for more than a second. Mirelle’s words echoed in his mind:

  The more you interact, the more it grows.

  He forced himself to focus on the notebook. He wrote down everything he remembered from the dream, every detail, every feeling. He tried to make sense of the patterns: the twenty-six-minute gaps, the recurring smiles, the sense of being watched.

  His phone buzzed. A message from Soren:

  Found something. Meet me at the river, sunrise. Don’t tell anyone.

  Lyos dressed quickly, avoiding the mirror, and slipped out into the night. The city was quiet, the streets slick with rain. He kept his head down, feeling the weight of every shadow.

  At the river, Soren was waiting beneath an old iron bridge. He looked exhausted, his eyes bloodshot.

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  “I’ve been digging,” Soren said without preamble. “Old police reports, hospital records, missing persons. There’s a pattern. Every few years, someone in this city starts acting like you-blackouts, strange behavior, violence. Always ends the same way: they disappear, or they die.”

  Lyos shivered. “Why me? Why now?”

  Soren shook his head. “I don’t know. But I found something else-something about the Architect. The original founder of your foundation. He was obsessed with consciousness, the mind’s ability to fracture and reform. There are rumors he experimented on himself-and others.”

  Lyos’s breath caught. “What happened to him?”

  “Officially? He died in a fire. Unofficially? Some say he never left. That he found a way to live on, not in body, but in mind.”

  Lyos felt the world tilt. “You think this…thing inside me is connected to him?”

  Soren shrugged. “I think it’s all connected. The foundation, the experiments, the missing time. And I think Mirelle knows more than she’s telling.”

  A cold wind swept across the river, making Lyos shiver. “What do we do?”

  Soren’s gaze was grim. “We keep digging. And you keep fighting. Don’t let it win, Lyos. If you feel yourself slipping, call me. No matter what.”

  Lyos nodded, gratitude and fear warring inside him. “Thank you, Soren.”

  They parted as the first light of dawn crept over the city. Lyos walked home, the streets empty and echoing. He felt the eyes of his reflection on him with every step.

  Back in his apartment, he found the scarf on the floor, as if it had been tossed aside. The mirror was uncovered. He stared at it, daring his reflection to move.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, his reflection’s lips curled into a smile-a perfect imitation of the one from his dreams.

  Lyos stumbled back, heart racing. He grabbed the scarf and threw it over the mirror, hands shaking.

  He sat on the bed, notebook open, and wrote a single line:

  It’s getting stronger.

  As he closed his eyes, he heard a whisper, soft and triumphant, echoing from the glass:

  “Soon.”