"LAILAH?" Mailah whispered.
The hand in the mirror stilled. Then, slowly, impossibly, it withdrew—not retreating, but beckoning.
"No," Grayson said flatly, his power still crackling around him like a storm barely contained. "Absolutely not."
But Mailah couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Because that voice—her sister's voice—shouldn't exist. Lailah was dead. She'd seen the body. Held her hand as she took her last breath.
"Mailah, please," the voice whispered again, desperate and pleading. "I need you to come home. Before it's too late."
"It's a trick," Elin said, her voice sharp. "Mirrors can trap echoes. Memories. This isn't—it can't be real."
But Mailah's heart was hammering against her ribs, her vision blurring with tears she didn't remember shedding. "Lailah?"
"Don't," Grayson warned, catching her arm when she tried to step forward. "Mailah, don't you dare—"
"That's my sister," she choked out. "My twin. She's—"
