Jackson found him hunched on the kitchen floor one afternoon, his head between his knees, his arms shaking.
"Tyler—what happened?"
Tyler raised his head. For a split second, his face wasn't his own. His mouth curled into a sly grin. His eyes gleamed unnaturally.
"You never should have stayed, Jackson," Tyler said, but it wasn't his voice. It was deeper, sharper, vibrating like something dragged from the pit of the earth.
Jackson froze. "Tyler?"
Tyler blinked. His own voice returned, broken and terrified. "I didn't—God, I didn't say that. It wasn't me."
The silence stretched between them, brittle. For the first time, Jackson's gaze didn't just hold worry—it held fear.
"I think you should go," Tyler whispered, ashamed, shaking his head. "You're not safe here."
But Jackson didn't move. He only stepped closer, kneeling down to grab Tyler's trembling hands. "Then we fight it. Together."
Tyler's body betrayed him. His mouth smiled though his mind screamed.
"You can't fight me," the reflection said, through his lips.