The mirror was breathing.
At first, Noah thought it was just his own breath fogging the glass. But no he was still. The air around him was cold and unmoving.
But the mirror's surface… pulsed.
It inhaled.
It exhaled.
And in between those breaths, the reflection smiled.
Noah stumbled back, heart pounding, but he didn't call out. Matthew was downstairs preparing wards, muttering incantations and sharpening silver stakes like he was expecting war.
Noah didn't want him to see him like this frightened, trembling, unraveling.
He approached the mirror again, slow and cautious.
His reflection stood still, mimicking his movements… until it didn't.
The other Noah tilted its head slightly after he did. Its lips curled a little too wide. And its eyes?
Caleb's eyes.
"You're fading," the reflection whispered, lips unmoving. "Little guest. Little thief."
Noah clenched his fists. "You're not real."
"Neither are you… not anymore."
The mirror cracked.
A thin, jagged line split across the glass, just over his left eye matching the scar Caleb bore in this borrowed body. Noah stumbled back again, heart racing.
The room suddenly felt smaller. The shadows longer.
He rushed out.
Downstairs, Matthew glanced up as Noah descended the staircase too quickly.
"What happened?"
"The mirror"
Matthew was already on his feet, hand gripping his protective charm. "What did it show you?"
"Caleb. He… he's in there. Speaking through it the mirror."
Matthew's eyes darkened. "That's not just residue. He's strengthening. Feeding off your confusion."
"I'm not confused," Noah snapped.
"Then stop listening to his voice."
Noah opened his mouth to argue then stopped.
Because behind Matthew, just past the entryway mirror, he saw something move.
His reflection hadn't followed them.
Later that night, they sat across from each other in the parlor. A dying fire crackled between them. Matthew had begun etching new sigils into the floor using crushed bone and chalk, pausing only to sip bitter herbs from a black flask.
Noah watched him. The methodical way he worked. The quiet grief in his movements.
He hated that he was starting to trust this man.
"You're not just doing this to save me, are you?" Noah asked suddenly.
Matthew didn't look up. "What do you mean?"
"You're still in love with him. With Caleb."
Matthew paused.
"No. I'm in love with the version of him I once believed in. That version is dead."
"Then why do you look at me like that?"
Matthew finally looked up, eyes unreadable. "Because sometimes… you speak like him."
Noah looked away.
The fire snapped behind them.
That night, the dreams came.
But they weren't dreams.
He stood in the basement again, barefoot, surrounded by candles made of human fat. Caleb stood across from him tall, beautiful, terrible. A crown of thorns sat on his head, and blood dripped from his lips like wine.
"You can't run from me," Caleb said, stepping closer. "You're in my skin. My name. My fate."
"I'm not you."
"But I am you now," Caleb whispered. "And you… are starting to like it."
Caleb touched Noah's face.
And Noah… didn't pull away.
He woke up in a cold sweat, gasping. Moonlight filtered through the window again, and the mirror across the room?
Whole.
Uncracked.
But the reflection?
Smiling.