The world broke apart.
Not like falling—there was no impact, no ground rushing to meet him. No sense of movement at all.Just a fracture, like glass shattering inside his skull, like the moment between waking and dreaming stretched into something unnatural.
Ezra didn't breathe. Couldn't.
For a brief, agonizing instant, he was nowhere.
Then—
The ground returned.
Ezra stumbled forward, catching himself against something rough—wood, stone, he couldn't tell. His pulse hammered in his ears, his body struggling to understand where it had been and where it was now.
A breath.
Another
Then his senses caught up.
He wasn't in his apartment anymore.
The air was damp, thick with the scent of dust and something older, something that didn't belong to time. Candlelight flickered at the edges of his vision, casting long, shifting shadows against the walls.
Walls made of mirrors.
Ezra's stomach twisted.
He turned sharply, taking in his surroundings. A narrow corridor stretched before him, lined on both sides with tall, warped mirrors. Some were cracked, their surfaces spiderwebbed with fractures. Others were smuged, their reflections blurred.
None of them showed him as he was.
Ezra exhaled, slow and controlled, forcing his heartbeat to settle.
Then he turned to the figure beside him.
The man who had pulled him from the apartment.
Or—whatever he was.
Ezra took a step back, grip tightening around his knife. "Where the hell are we?"
The figure didn't answer right away. His presence was strange, as if the space around him resisted definition. Even standing still, his edges seemed to shift slightly, like an image struggling to remain in focus.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was rough, frayed at the edges, like it had been worn down over centuries
"You were going to die back there."
Ezra didn't flinch. "And I'm supposed to thank you?"
A low chuckle. "No. You're supposed to listen."
Ezra glanced at the mirrors again. His reflection in one seemed too slow, its movements half a second behind his own. Another was too fast. The one nearest to him—
His chest tightened.
No reflection at all.
He forced his attention back to the stranger. "You still haven't answered my question."
The figure exhaled. "We are between places. This is a space that exists in the cracks."
Ezra's jaw tightened.The cracks in the world.
The book had warned him.
"You've seen them, haven't you?" The figure watched him carefully. "The things that watch from the dark. The names that aren't supposed to be spoken."
Ezra thought of The Hidden Laws. Of the name that had appeared on the page. The one he had spoken aloud.
His hand curled into a fist. "What are they?"
The figure tilted his head. "What do you think?"
Ezra hated games. Especially now. "You're the one who dragged me into this—"
A whisper.
Ezra froze.
It came from the mirrors.
Faint, curling at the edge of hearing, layered on top of itself like a voice speaking in too many directions at once.
He turned toward the nearest reflection.
His own face stared back.
Then—it didn't.
His lips moved, but he hadn't spoken.
"You shouldn't be here."
Ezra's blood ran cold.
The whisper grew louder. The other mirrors responded, their reflections shifting—some turning away, some grinning with too many teeth.
Then—
A hand pressed against the glass.
Not his.
Something inside.
Reaching.
Ezra staggered back. 'What the hell—'
"Don't look too long," the figure beside him murmured. "They look back."
Ezra turned sharply. "Then get me out of here."
The figure held his gaze. Then, without a word, he reached out—
And shattered the mirror.
The world lurched.
Ezra fell forward into nothingness.
And the whispers followed him down.