Elias stepped out of the hospital with a duffel bag and a thousand unanswered questions. The sky felt too bright, the world too loud—like everything had moved on while he was stuck in some endless loop of dreaming and war.
Ray was waiting beside a beat-up gray car, leaning on the hood with that same lopsided grin he always had.
"Alright, let's get you outta here, Coma Boy," Ray said, grabbing the bag.
They drove through the city, music playing low. Elias didn't say much. His mind was still unpacking the chaos of Michael, Theron, the manikins, the turtle. But Ray filled the silence.
"Mom and Dad are out on that trip to Spain, so you're staying with me," Ray said casually. "Can't really bring you back there anyway."
Elias looked out the window, blinking slowly. "And… our sister?"
Ray laughed, a little too loudly. "Yeah, well… let's just say she still doesn't wanna talk to you. Even after you almost died."
Elias rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I know why."
Ray shrugged like it wasn't worth going into. "Anyway, your school uniform's in the guest room. Still got school tomorrow, little dude."
"What?" Elias turned to him, almost offended. "I was just in a coma!"
"Yeah. For a couple of months. School's not over yet," Ray said, grinning. "And hey—look at the bright side. You'll be the cool kid now. Everyone knows you almost died. They'll be nice to you."
He paused, as the car came to a break in front of a house.Then he added with a wink, "Especially the ladies."
They both exited the car, heading into the house.
Elias groaned. "I'm going to take a shower."
"You do you, little guy," Ray said, chuckling as he kicked his feet up on the coffee table.
The hot water poured down Elias's back like a small river. For a moment, the warmth helped dull the throb in his mind. But even here, in the quiet, his thoughts refused to settle.
He saw it all again—Theron's strikes, Michael's control, the turtle clock ticking forward like fate itself.
He hadn't heard the clock since waking up. That should have been a relief. But it only raised a question:
Who won?
When the water ran cold, Elias stepped out and grabbed the towel. He dried off, brushed his teeth, and leaned over the sink. Water splashed. Toothpaste foam. Nothing unusual.
He spat into the basin and looked up.
The mirror was foggy, completely clouded from the steam—except for one part. One clear sentence etched into the glass.
"I am the Owner of Mirrors. I'm coming for you, Elias."
He froze. His breath caught.
He rubbed his eyes. Wiped the mirror clean with his towel.
Nothing. Gone.