Ash leaned back against the cracked leather seat of the lecture hall, his fingers drumming rhythmically against his thigh. The dim lights buzzed faintly overhead as the professor rambled on about metaphysical paradoxes an irony that wasn't lost on him. Since the manuscript appeared, his reality had felt like one.
He tried to ignore the pressure behind his eyes, the lingering itch that something was watching him. But today, the weight was heavier. And it wasn't just paranoia.
"You've been quieter than usual," Alice whispered beside him, her honey-brown eyes scanning his face. She was one of the few who still bothered to engage with him.
"Long night," Ash muttered, though that didn't explain the gaps in his memory or the flicker he caught in his mirror that morning. "What do you want, Alice?"
She tilted her head, lips twitching into a teasing smile. "I was going to invite you to the library. Research partners? You could use the help."
Ash almost refused, but curiosity itched at him. The last time he worked alone, he'd found a name Alistair Crowl and nothing had felt the same since.
"Fine," he said, standing as the lecture wrapped up.
As they walked the stone corridors, Ash's thoughts drifted back to the manuscript hidden under his bed. The words on the last page kept shifting impossible to pin down. But the most recent phrase burned in his mind:
"The reflection is only the beginning."
Alice nudged his arm, snapping him back. "You look like you're solving a murder."
"Maybe I am."
In the library's dim recesses, they claimed a table near the restricted archives. Dust motes floated lazily through the pale light. It felt too quiet.
Across from him, Alice flipped through an ancient volume, her face unusually serious. "You ever hear of the Society of the Hollow Veil?"
Ash froze. The words scraped against his memory like nails.
"No," he lied smoothly. "Why?"
Her voice lowered. "There's a theory that some students disappear because of them. They collect people who get... too close to things they shouldn't."
His pulse quickened, but he forced a smirk. "Sounds like a ghost story."
"I'm serious, Ash." She leaned forward, her hair falling over her shoulder. "I found records of a student Oliver Kane he vanished a year ago. No one remembers him now, but his name is still listed in an old roster."
A chill settled in his stomach. That name it wasn't unfamiliar. He had seen it in the margins of the manuscript.
He should have walked away. But the questions gnawed at him an itch beneath his skin. Was he imagining the distortions? The gaps in his memory? Or was he already too far in?
Rationally, he told himself, there had to be an explanation. He was tired. He was stressed. That was all. But there was another part of his mind the one that whispered in the quiet that knew better.
What if they're already watching?
Before he could speak, the lights flickered. Somewhere in the stacks, a shadow shifted too fluid for an ordinary figure.
Alice didn't seem to notice. "I think someone's covering up what happened to him. What if "
A book fell from the highest shelf with a loud thud. Ash stood, his instincts prickling. The title gleamed in the low light: Reflections and Other Anomalies.
He reached for it. The leather felt cold too cold.
Alice raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong?"
Ash hesitated before opening the book. The first page was blank, but as he turned, handwritten lines emerged in jagged ink:
"The reflection remembers what you forget."
He slammed the book shut, heart pounding. Whatever this was it wasn't a coincidence.
"I need to check something," he said sharply, stepping away from the table.
In the back corner of the library, where the shadows stretched too far, he found a mirror half-covered in dust. For a breathless moment, his reflection stood still.
Then, it smiled.
His own face but it wasn't his smile.
His thoughts turned sharp, cynical. Of course, the horror wasn't over. Why would it be? Maybe he should just accept his fate become the protagonist of a bad ghost story. At least that would explain the mirror's mockery.
Or maybe you're losing it.
When Ash stumbled back to Alice, his knuckles were white. "We need to find out more about Oliver Kane. Fast."
And for the first time in weeks, he wasn't sure if he wanted the answers.
As they left the library, he felt a weight settle against his pocket. Frowning, he reached inside and pulled out a slip of aged paper.
In elegant, almost mocking script, two words stood out:
"O. Kane."
Ash crumpled the note in his fist, but the sensation of unseen eyes lingered. The reflection wasn't done with him yet.
The next morning, when he woke, his dorm room felt colder wrong. He turned toward his desk, where the mirror stood.
The reflection had changed.
It showed an image of himself, but behind his mirror-self stood a shadow a figure cloaked in black, its face obscured.
Ash's stomach twisted. He spun around, but the room was empty.
When he faced the mirror again, the shadow was gone. But one thing remained.
Scrawled across the glass in dripping black ink was a single message:
"You're next."