Chapter 5: The Shadow in the Mirror
(continued)
Bea left the photo on the table.
She didn't look at it again. Didn't have to. The image was already burning its way through her memory like ink spilled on silk—impossible to wipe clean.
She walked to the window and let the city stare back at her. It was early still, the streets yawning awake, but inside her, the ache had already begun.
Nova's touch still lingered on her skin, warm and sacred. But Bea knew the feeling wouldn't protect her. Not from this.
She pulled her cardigan tighter, like it could shield her from ghosts.
The knock at the door was soft. Three taps. Hesitant.
Bea didn't move.
The knock came again.
When she opened it, it wasn't Nova. Of course it wasn't.
It was him.
The boy from the photograph. No longer a boy. Taller. Meaner. Eyes like winter—eyes that used to be her salvation and her ruin.
"Hello, Beatrice," he said, as if no years had passed. "Still pretty when you're lying to yourself."
Her jaw clenched. "What do you want?"
He smiled like poison. "You. Again."
She slammed the door.
Her heart pounded in her ears, louder than her thoughts, louder than the rush of blood in her veins. She grabbed her phone, dialing Nova before her fear could stop her.
Nova answered in one breath.
"Bea?"
But Bea couldn't speak.
Just breathing.
Nova heard the silence. She always did.
"Where are you?" Nova asked, her voice low, controlled. "Tell me now."
"My place," Bea whispered. "He's here. He found me."
Nova didn't ask who.
She already knew.
"I'm coming," she said. "Don't open the door again. Don't breathe unless it's with me."
Bea didn't say goodbye.
She just waited, her back against the wall, holding herself like she used to as a child.
Nova would come.
But even love couldn't always outrun the past.