Lyos Lever couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed.

  He left the hospital with Liora, the witness’s haunted words echoing in his mind: “You smiled, and I couldn’t move.” The phrase looped over and over, twisting in his gut. Every time he caught his reflection in a passing window, he flinched, half-expecting it to move on its own.

  Outside, the city had brightened, but the air felt colder. Liora walked beside him in silence, her jaw set, her eyes scanning the street as if expecting trouble. Lyos tried to focus on the rhythm of his footsteps, the press of his shoes against the pavement, anything to anchor himself in the present.

  They parted at the corner. Liora squeezed his arm. “If you remember anything, call me. Even if it’s just a feeling.”

  Lyos nodded, grateful for her steadiness. He watched her disappear into the crowd, then turned down a side street, hoping the walk would clear his mind.

  He hadn’t gone far when he sensed someone behind him. He quickened his pace, heart hammering. The footsteps matched his own. He ducked into an alley, pressing himself against the wall, breath shallow.

  A shadow detached itself from the gloom.

  “Soren?” Lyos whispered.

  Soren Leif stepped forward, hands raised in peace. “It’s me. Sorry. I didn’t want to startle you.”

  Lyos sagged in relief, but the tension didn’t leave his body. “What are you doing here?”

  Soren glanced around, then leaned in, voice low. “I’ve been watching you. Watching the news. Something’s happening, Lyos. Something big. And it’s not just you.”

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  Lyos swallowed. “The witness…he said I smiled at him. But I don’t remember. I never remember.”

  Soren nodded grimly. “I’ve seen it before. People losing time. Acting out of character. It’s spreading.”

  Lyos stared at him. “You think it’s contagious?”

  Soren shook his head. “Not like a virus. More like…an idea. Or a parasite. Something that gets inside your head and changes you.”

  Lyos shivered. “What do I do?”

  Soren pressed a slip of paper into Lyos’s hand. “Come to this address tonight. There’s someone you need to meet. Someone who understands what you’re going through.”

  Lyos looked down at the address. It was in the old city, near the river. “Who is it?”

  Soren hesitated. “Just…trust me. And Lyos? Don’t look in any mirrors tonight. Not until after you’ve met her.”

  Before Lyos could ask more, Soren melted into the crowd, leaving him alone with a thousand questions.

  The rest of the day passed in a haze. Lyos tried to work, but every time he looked up, he caught his reflection in the window, watching him with that cold, knowing smile. He avoided the bathroom mirror, kept his phone face-down, and drew the curtains tight.

  As dusk fell, he made his way to the address Soren had given him. The old city was quieter at night, the streets narrow and winding, the buildings leaning in as if to share secrets. Lyos’s footsteps echoed on the cobblestones.

  He found the building-a crumbling townhouse with a flickering porch light. He hesitated, then knocked.

  A woman opened the door. She was older, with sharp eyes and a calm, measured presence. “You must be Lyos. I’m Mirelle.”

  He followed her inside. The house was filled with books, old clocks, and mirrors covered with heavy cloths. Mirelle led him to a small sitting room and gestured for him to sit.

  “I know why you’re here,” she said. “You’re losing time. Seeing things in the glass. Feeling like you’re not alone in your own head.”

  Lyos nodded, unable to speak.

  She poured him tea, her movements precise. “You’re not crazy, Lyos. But you are in danger. There’s something inside you-something that’s been there longer than you realize.”

  He gripped the cup, knuckles white. “What is it?”

  Mirelle’s eyes were sad. “A fracture. A split in your consciousness. One part of you lives your life, the other…takes over. And it’s getting stronger.”

  Lyos’s breath caught. “How do I stop it?”

  She shook her head. “You can’t-not alone. But you can fight it. And you can learn the rules.”

  She reached into a drawer and handed him a small, ornate mirror. “Take this. If you ever see your reflection move on its own, cover it. Don’t let it see you for too long.”

  Lyos stared at the mirror, fear prickling his skin. “What happens if I do?”

  Mirelle’s voice was barely a whisper. “It learns. It remembers. And one day, it might not give you back.”

  That night, Lyos sat in his apartment, the mirror wrapped in a scarf on his desk. He watched the clock tick past midnight, every muscle tense. The city outside was silent, but inside, his thoughts raced.

  He caught his reflection in the window, just for a moment. It smiled.

  Lyos turned away, heart pounding, and whispered into the darkness, “I won’t let you win.”

  But the voice that answered was his own, and it was laughing.