Adam walked with his head bowed, slipping into the car without a word. The city lights flickered past as he gave the driver directions to Shuxeta's house. The silence felt heavier than usual.
When the car stopped, Adam stepped out—and Hezme came running. Before he could react, she leapt onto him, arms locked around his neck, legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her grip was almost too strong, as if she feared he'd vanish. He tapped a dark blue card against a device the driver handed him.
"What is that?" Hezme snatched it before he could put it away.
A golden crest shimmered on its surface—an alien phoenix with spread wings, two moons behind it, one slightly eclipsing the other.
"My expense card," Adam muttered, snatching it back.
Still clinging to him, Hezme tightened her hold as he walked into the house.
"How is Shuxeta?" he asked.
Hezme stiffened. Then, without a word, she climbed off him and walked away.
Adam sighed. Something felt off. He followed her into the living room, where she curled into the couch, hugging her legs to her chest. Her fingers dug into her arms.
Gently, Adam reached out, prying her legs from the couch. As they unfolded, her hands dropped limply to her sides, as if all strength had drained from them.
He laid down, resting his head on her lap.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
Hezme ran her fingers through his hair.
"You can be so clueless sometimes." Her voice was quiet, distant. "You said you'd be back in a week. It's been longer."
"Sorry about that too."
Adam closed his eyes for what felt like seconds—when he opened them, Hezme was gone.
He sat up, rubbing his face. How long had he been out? The air in the house felt… wrong. Still. Too still.
"Must have passed out," he muttered.
He got up and wandered through the house, his unease growing. He hadn't seen Shuxeta once. Where was she?
As he passed her room, a cold shiver ran down his spine. The door was shut. Had it been shut before?
On his next loop through the house, he stopped outside one of the guest rooms. The faint sound of running water reached his ears.
Adam frowned. No one uses that room.
His pulse quickened as he stepped inside. The bathroom door was ajar, steam curling through the opening. He inched forward, every footstep unnervingly loud against the floor.
Through the crack, he saw him—a man, standing under the water, tattoo curling over half his face, blonde beard dripping.
Adam's breath hitched. He shoved the door open—
Hezme flinched.
"You scared me," she breathed out.
Adam stood frozen, his mind racing. Where was the man? He could've sworn he saw him—tattooed face, wet beard, standing right there.
Before he could react, Hezme grabbed his hand, slowly pulling him toward her.
His gaze flickered to the mirror. He watched as Hezme undressed him, her movements slow, deliberate. She went behind him, pulling his shirt over his head.
Adam's mind lingered on what he saw. Why did I see him?
Then, Hezme let his pants drop. His breath hitched. He smiled, trying to shake the uneasy feeling, but his eyes stayed locked on the mirror.
The man was there again.
This time, Adam didn't hesitate—he swung his elbow back, hard.
A sharp gasp. A thud. He turned.
Hezme was crumpled against the wall, her hand over her nose, blood slipping through her fingers.
Adam's stomach twisted. No. No, no, no.
"I'm really sorry." His voice came out hoarse as he reached for her. He pried her hand away, revealing the blood smeared across her lips.
He led her to the sink, helping her rinse the blood off. His hands were shaking.
Hezme winced as he pressed gently against her nose.
"It's broken," she muttered. Then, her voice darkened. "If you didn't want to shower with me, you could've just said so."
"I do want to—"
Before he could finish, Hezme shoved him backward, slamming the door in his face.
Adam barely had time to process before he heard the sharp click of the bolt locking.
His breath came too fast. What the hell is happening?
He placed a hand on the door. "Hezme—"
No response.
Adam swallowed hard, backing away. Am I feeling the effects of the Shiroki now? Am I losing my mind?
As he turned to leave, he caught a final glimpse of the mirror from the corner of his eye.
The man was still there.
And this time, he was smiling.
Adam tried to ignore the man in the mirror.
He's not real. He's not real.
"I need to make it to her," he muttered to himself. "No running off. No distractions. Just a stress-free day or two. Maybe longer if we can."
He forced himself into the kitchen, trying to focus. The fridge hummed softly as he pulled it open.
Milk. Eggs. Vegetables. Meat. Spices.
He exhaled. Normal things. Real things.
Adam got to work. He poured the milk into a pan, heating it to just over 80 degrees Celsius. The warmth felt grounding. He took it off the fire, let it sit, then cooled it in the fridge to 45 degrees.
Opening the fridge again, he reached for the yogurt starter.
That was when he noticed something.
The milk.
It wasn't where he left it.
A drop of sweat rolled down his spine. He shook it off, stirring the starter into the milk. His motions were methodical, careful—controlled. He sealed it in a jar and placed the meat in the dry-aging fridge.
The moment he shut the refrigerator door, a voice broke the silence.
"What are you doing?"
Adam nearly jumped. Hezme stood behind him, watching. How long had she been there?
"Making dinner. I want to make it up to you."
She leaned over the island, her eyes sharp. "You'll need more than dinner for breaking my nose alone."
Adam forced a smile. "Don't worry. This is one of many."
He stepped closer, studying her face. The swelling was bad. As he reached to touch it, she smacked his hand away.
"It's crooked," he said. "I have to set it."
"I think it looks better like this."
Adam chuckled. She was trying to hide her pain.
Gently, he placed his fingers on the bridge of her nose.
"On three," he said.
Hezme narrowed her eyes. "I know what you're doing. It won't work."
Adam frowned.
"You're going to reset it on two, to catch me by surprise."
"Shuxeta, just let—"
Snap.
Hezme gasped.
Then froze.
Adam's breath hitched. Shuxeta?
She turned slowly. Her face twisted in rage. For a moment, she didn't seem to feel the pain—then, like a delayed reaction, she lashed out, slapping him hard across the face.
His ears rang.
She took a shaky breath.
"Never do that again," she said, voice low, almost trembling. "Even for me."
Adam swallowed. Something about her tone unsettled him.
Adam barely sleeps that night. Every time he closes his eyes, he feels it. A presence. Watching. Waiting.
He tries to convince himself it's exhaustion. Stress. The aftereffects of the Shiroki.
But deep down, he knows better.
The next morning, Hezme moves through the house like nothing is wrong. She hums while making tea. But Adam can't stop glancing at the mirrors. Checking.
He catches a glimpse of movement. A shadow that lingers too long. A flicker of something behind him that shouldn't be there.
At first, it's only in the reflections.
Then… it steps out.
That night, as Adam washes his face, the air behind him shifts. Cold fingers brush the back of his neck. His stomach drops.
Slowly, he lifts his head to look at the bathroom mirror.
The man is there.
Tattooed face. Wet, blonde beard. But now, he's closer. Right behind Adam. Too real.
Adam spins around.
Nothing.
His breath comes fast. He turns back to the mirror—
The man is grinning.
Then, in a voice that is low, jagged, and wrong, he speaks:
"She knows."
The lights flicker. Adam stumbles back. His pulse pounds in his ears.
He runs into the hallway, searching for Hezme.
She's standing there, staring at him, her face pale.
"Adam," she whispers. "I thought I heard you talking to someone."
He looks past her. The mirror at the end of the hall—he sees the man standing in it.
But the reflection isn't just showing the hallway.
It's showing another place. A dark, rotting corridor. The walls pulse like they're alive. And deep in the shadows—something else is moving.
The man tilts his head. His grin widens.
"She knows," he repeats.
And this time, Adam realizes…
He's not talking about Hezme.
He's talking about Shuxeta.
The Man in the Mirror
"Did she do something to Shuxeta out of jealousy?"
The thought crept into Adam's mind as he lay beside Hezme, watching her sleep. Her breathing was shallow. Her body, still. In the dim glow of the bedside lamp, she almost looked lifeless.
His fingers twitched.
Before he knew it, his hand was on her chest, then sliding up to her throat. His grip tightened—just a little. Hezme coughed.
His heart pounded. He squeezed harder.
"No. Stop."
The words came from his own lips, but his hands didn't listen. Hezme's eyes snapped open in panic. She thrashed beneath him, clawing at his face, kicking, struggling. Adam pinned her down, his vision blurred with tears.
She fought. Then she stopped.
Her hands fell limp against the bed.
Adam's breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. He froze, staring at her unmoving form.
What had he done?
"No, no, no—" He scrambled, pressing down on her chest. CPR. He tilted her head back, breathed into her mouth. Again. Again.
Nothing.
He clutched her body, his forehead pressing against hers. And then—
A flicker of movement.
Adam looked up.
The man in the mirror was grinning.
Rage surged through him. He snatched a heavy ornament from the bedside table and hurled it at the glass. The mirror shattered.
"What do you want from me?!" Adam bellowed, his voice hoarse.
A laugh.
Behind him, Hezme moved.
"Set him free."
Her voice was calm, too calm. Adam turned, dread curling in his stomach.
Hezme was smiling. Wide. Too wide. Her lips stretched, the corners tearing, blood dripping down her chin.
Adam stumbled back. "Set who free? How?"
His skin burned.
He looked down. His clothes were on fire. He tore them off, his breath hitching as the flames left no burns, only one thing seared into his chest—
The Bekanna Sigil.
His surroundings blurred, twisted. The bedroom melted away.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
"Ombrathrax… When did I get here?"
The air shimmered, the silence stretching thin. Then—
A voice. Smooth, amused. Too knowing.
"I ask myself that question all the time."
Sparks flickered in the air. A figure materialized, emerging as if from broken glass. The man from the mirror.
"Who are you?" Adam whispered.
The man smiled, eyes gleaming like polished obsidian.
"I've had many names. But the one that resonates with me…" He spread his arms, as if welcoming Adam to a grand performance.
"Is Lore."
He took a step forward, shadows curling at his feet.
"Nice to meet you, Officer Adam."