Lyos Lever barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw fragments of the mirror world: endless corridors, twisted reflections, the other Lyos’s obsidian eyes. Even awake, he felt the chill of the glass, a cold ache behind his thoughts.

  Liora stayed by his side through the night, refusing to leave even as exhaustion etched lines into her face. At dawn, she brewed coffee and sat across from him at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug.

  “We need help,” she said quietly. “We need Mirelle.”

  Lyos nodded. “She knows more than she’s told us. About the Architect. About the ritual. About…whatever’s inside me.”

  They left together, the city just beginning to wake. The streets felt different-sharper, as if the world itself was wary. Every window they passed seemed to shimmer, and Lyos kept his gaze fixed on the pavement.

  Mirelle’s townhouse was dark, the curtains drawn tight. Liora knocked, and after a long pause, Mirelle opened the door. She looked older than before, her eyes shadowed but alert.

  “I was expecting you,” she said, ushering them inside. “You tried the ritual, didn’t you?”

  Lyos nodded, his voice hoarse. “I saw it. The other me. It said I let it in.”

  Mirelle sighed, leading them to her study. The room was filled with old books, covered mirrors, and the faint scent of dried herbs. She motioned for them to sit.

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  “The Architect believed the mind could be split-one self for the world, another for the shadows. He thought he could control it, use it to survive death itself. But the shadow self… it doesn’t want to be controlled. It wants to live.”

  Liora leaned forward. “Is it… him? The Architect?”

  Mirelle shook her head. “Not exactly. More like a pattern, a parasite made from all the minds it’s touched. Each host leaves a piece behind, and it grows stronger with every cycle.”

  Lyos swallowed. “Can it be killed?”

  Mirelle’s expression was grave. “Not easily. The ritual you tried was only the first step. To truly confront it, you have to draw it out-force it to reveal itself, not just in the mirror, but here.” She tapped her temple. “In your mind. And you can’t do it alone.”

  She handed Lyos a small, battered journal-the Architect’s own, bound in cracked leather. “This will help. But you must be careful. The closer you get to the truth, the more it will fight back.”

  Lyos opened the journal, scanning the cramped, spidery handwriting. Symbols leapt out at him: intersecting lines, circles, the number 26 repeated again and again. There were notes about hosts, about rituals, about the “mirror mind” and the “void between.”

  A sudden chill swept through the room. The covered mirrors seemed to pulse, as if something inside them was listening.

  Mirelle’s voice dropped to a whisper. “You have to be ready, Lyos. The next time you face it, it will try to convince you that you are the shadow-that you belong behind the glass. Don’t believe it. Hold on to who you are.”

  Liora reached over, squeezing Lyos’s hand. “We’re with you. Whatever happens.”

  He nodded, determination hardening beneath his fear. “I won’t let it win.”

  But as he glanced at the nearest covered mirror, he felt a flicker of doubt-because somewhere, deep inside, the other Lyos was waiting, patient and hungry, for another chance to break free.