"Zayden," I said, stepping back instead of forward. "I don't think you even like being near me. You mentioned not even wanting any of this."
He didn't move. His eyes flicked—just once—to my neck. Like something there hurt him to look at. Like a memory he didn't want to remember.
"I don't," he said, voice hard, jaw tighter.
Then quieter, like it betrayed him:
"But I can't leave you here. It'd be a waste"
The glass in the walls began to hum. Whispers echoed faintly inside it, like a choir warming up its voice. The mark on my arm flared again, casting shadows that didn't match our bodies. What's happening to me?
The mirrors were waking.
Zayden swore under his breath and lunged forward—not to hurt me, not even to scare me—just to grab my arm but I was terrified.
The contact nearly knocked the air out of both of us.
His pupils blew wide. For a second, I could've sworn I saw a second pair of eyes—golden, glowing, behind his own...even in this situation, he managed to look majestic.
He let go like I'd burned him. "Fuck!—don't touch me again."
"I wasn't trying to you.... touched me—"
"I'm serious," he snapped. "You're not stable. The mark's bleeding through. You're not even masked anymore."
"Masked?"
But he didn't answer. He just jerked his chin toward the wall. The glass was warping—like water rippling in a still pond. Shapes moved behind it. They looked like me. They...were me.
Zayden growled low, that animal kind of sound, the kind that rattles in your chest like something older than speech.
"I said we're leaving," he said, stepping toward the wall—then raking his claws across it.
Yes. Claws.
In an instant, they were there—black, curved, like obsidian. His fingers were still fingers, but stretched, twisted. The wolf was closer to the surface now. I couldn't help but stare.
"You're shifting?" I breathed.
"Just enough to cut through."
He didn't sound happy about it. He sounded in pain.
The mirror split. Not shattered—parted. Like a curtain pulled aside. What lay behind it wasn't a hallway.
It was a forest. But wrong.
Too dark. Too quiet. Trees stood still, like they were waiting for something. And the moon—high, wide, sickly pale—looked straight at me.
Zayden stepped through, but hesitated at the threshold. "If you come, don't look back. No matter what you hear. Do you hear me?"
I stared at the warped mirror behind him.
"Why?"
"Because whatever's behind you will look like someone you love. Keep walking straight. Even if we go in, we'll separate and meet in the other end."
I didn't ask how he knew that.
I just stepped forward. My fingers brushed the glass—it was cold, slick. It felt like touching memory.
I stepped through.
The temperature dropped. The mark on my arm burned hot, then suddenly… quiet.
The portal closed behind us. No fanfare. No glow. Just silence.
Zayden exhaled hard, like he'd been holding something back.
"I need to get you to the Hollow," he said, already walking.
He wasn't gone, he was right in front of me.
"What's the Hollow?" I asked gently.
"Sanctuary. For people like me."
"But I'm not like you."
He didn't answer.
And somehow, that made it feel like I was. I guess I was.