Ash couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted. The mark on the journal's spine seemed to burn against his palm as he turned it over, the serpent devouring its tail shimmering faintly in the morning light.
"The symbol," Alice murmured, leaning over his shoulder. "It wasn't there before. What does it mean?"
Ash traced the edge of the ouroboros with his thumb. "It's a symbol of eternity. Or cycles. Something that never ends." His voice lowered. "Maybe the mirror isn't just showing reflections. What if it's trapping them?"
Alice frowned. "You think Oliver Kane is still in there?"
Ash didn't answer. He couldn't. His mind was already spinning further, tugged by a chilling realization: If the mirror holds what it reflects, what happens when it takes more than just an image?
A slip of paper fell from the journal's pages. Ash bent to retrieve it, his fingers brushing against its rough surface. Scrawled in thin, slanting handwriting were the words:
The mirror does not give without taking. What will you offer?
Alice swallowed hard. "Someone knows we're getting too close."
Ash rose from his chair and crossed the room to the mirror hanging against the far wall. It seemed unchanged, yet under the surface, something flickered a faint ripple only he could see. He placed his hand against the glass. It was cold, but the sensation tugged at him, like a thread pulling deep beneath the surface.
"There's more," he murmured. "I need to know what they're hiding."
Alice's hand caught his wrist, pulling him back. "You need to stop. Ash, every time you get near that thing, it's like it gets inside your head. You're not thinking clearly."
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. "I am thinking clearly. That's the problem."
She let go of his wrist reluctantly. "You said it yourself the mirror isn't just reflecting things. What if it's changing you?"
Ash hesitated. For a moment, the rational part of his mind screamed at him to stop. But something else pushed him forward the need to understand, to control the mirror before it controlled him.
He turned back to the journal, flipping through brittle pages until he found the section labeled Veil of Refractions.
"This ritual," he said softly, "lets you see beyond the surface of reality. If the society is using the mirror to guard something, this could be the key to understanding what they want."
Alice took a shaky breath. "And the price?"
His eyes skimmed the text. "The more you open the veil, the thinner the boundary becomes between you and your reflection. If you go too far… you might lose yourself."
He felt her stare sharpen on him. "You're still going to do it."
"I have to," Ash said, his voice tight. "They know who we are now. If we wait, we'll lose our chance."
Before Alice could answer, there was a knock at the door sharp and deliberate. Ash tensed.
When he opened the door, a girl stood there. She was slender, with dark curls falling against her pale skin. But it was her eyes that held him still a shade too dark, too deep, as if reflecting something he couldn't see.
"You shouldn't be reading that," she said quietly. "The journal. It isn't meant for you."
Ash stepped back, blocking her view of the desk. "And who are you?"
Her lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile. "Someone who isn't interested in watching you destroy yourself."
Alice stood beside him now, her posture tense. "You're part of the society."
The girl tilted her head slightly. "Not all of us agree with their methods. If you keep pushing, you'll draw the attention of those who won't knock first."
Ash folded his arms. "And what do you want?"
"To make sure you understand exactly what you're playing with." Her voice lowered. "The mirror doesn't just reflect reality it can bend it. But if you let it, it will bend you."
He couldn't suppress the edge in his voice. "Why warn us?"
Her smile faded. "Because I made the same mistake once."
For a moment, Ash glimpsed something behind her eyes a flicker of pain, a shadow that hadn't quite left her. And then she turned to leave.
"If you keep the journal," she added, pausing at the doorway, "be prepared to pay whatever it demands."
"Wait," Ash called after her, stepping forward. "What did you lose?"
The girl stopped, her fingers tightening into a fist. For a breathless moment, it seemed like she wouldn't answer. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, "My reflection."
The door shut behind her.
Alice exhaled sharply. "Ash, this isn't a game. If even they're scared of the mirror…"
Ash returned to the desk, flipping back to the ritual. His mind raced. A mistake. What had the girl done? What price had she paid?
"I need to know more," he muttered, more to himself than to Alice.
He turned to the mirror again. The flicker beneath the surface had grown stronger, more distinct like a pulse. And as he stared, he caught something new. A second reflection. It stood just behind his own, shadowed but unmistakably him. Yet, the expression it wore was wrong colder, hungrier.
Ash's breath hitched. "It's watching."
Alice froze beside him. "Ash, we should destroy it. Burn the journal, break the mirror whatever it takes to stop this."
His fingers twitched against the glass. Part of him wanted to agree. But another part the part the mirror seemed to stir refused to let go.
"Not yet," he said quietly. "I'm not finished."
And as he walked away from the mirror, he felt its gaze linger, like unseen fingers brushing the edges of his mind.
But deep in the mirror's surface, a crack began to spread thin as a hairline fracture, but pulsing with a cold, endless hunger.