The next morning was wrapped in fog.
It clung to the trees like cobwebs, curling between the windows and seeping into the floorboards. Sarah watched it from the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a chipped black mug. The coffee had gone cold long ago.
Ace was outside checking the perimeter.
"Like something's going to crawl out of the trees," he'd said.
She didn't argue. She felt it too.
The mirror in the hallway had been covered.
She did that.
Because when she walked past it before dawn, she saw her reflection smile first.
Not her. The reflection.
It smiled before she did.
Now, the cloth over it rippled every so slightly, like a breeze inside the house was tugging at it. But the windows were closed. Doors locked.
Sarah reached for the journal Ace had insisted she keep. He said writing things down helped separate what was real from what wasn't. What was trauma, and what was warning.
She opened to the first empty page and started writing.
Dream again. Same woman. Same voice. She said:"You're wearing her skin."I don't know what that means.But it didn't feel like Hal.It felt like… me.Like something I buried long ago is crawling back.And it's angry I left it behind.
A sound behind her.
Soft. Like bare feet on wood.
She turned, expecting Ace.
No one.
She stood and walked to the hallway, every step slow and deliberate.
The mirror's cloth was gone.
Just gone.
Sarah's breath caught in her throat.
And there—standing inside the reflection—was her.
But not her now. Her from before.
From the year she ran from Hal. When her hair was tangled, her eyes darker, her lips cracked from sleep and screams. She looked feral. Hollowed out. Hungry.
Sarah stepped closer.
The reflection tilted its head.
Then it raised a hand.
And tapped the glass from the other side.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Sarah's heart thudded.
She backed away slowly, then turned—
—and collided with Ace.
His hands caught her shoulders, steadying her. "What happened?"
She pointed.
But the mirror was covered again. The cloth in place. Still.
Like it had never moved.
Ace looked at her carefully, then pulled her into his chest. "We're not alone in this," he whispered. "Whatever this is."
She closed her eyes, breathing him in. But even in his arms, she felt the truth clawing up her spine:
This wasn't about Hal.
This was about her.
Something inside her was waking up.
And it wanted out.