Lance blinked at the flickering monitor in the corner—static crackled faintly, like whispers just out of reach. The safe house was thick with silence now, but something felt... off.
He glanced toward the small metal-framed mirror Dani had pulled down from the wall. For a heartbeat, his reflection didn't quite match. The man staring back seemed sharper, yes, but something in his eyes flickered—like a glitch in a corrupted image. He shook his head. Probably tired.
Dario sat beside him on the cracked linoleum floor, head tilted at a curious angle. The dog's gaze was fixed not on Lance, but something behind him—or maybe through him. The steady, warm weight of Dario's presence was reassuring, but those eyes made Lance's skin crawl.
Why is he staring like that?
Lance tried to shrug it off, but the unease tightened around him like a coil. He rubbed his temples, struggling to hold onto the solid ground of his own mind.
Then came the flicker.
A sudden flash of a moment—a split second—in his memory. Standing near the refrigerated section in the grocery store. The lights buzzing oddly. Time stuttering like a broken record skipping a beat. The carton of milk in his hands feeling heavier, almost alive.
He hadn't noticed at the time.
Hadn't noticed anything.
But maybe that was when it started.
Not a full infection. Not a takeover. Just... a crack. A breach.
Lance's pulse quickened as tiny moments piled up:
The reflection that lingered a bit too long after he'd moved.
A word that escaped his mouth before he meant to speak it.
Dario's unblinking stare, the way his ears twitched when Lance looked away.
Am I already... changed?
He swallowed hard, feeling the room close in.
Dani's voice broke through the fog. "You're not losing it. It's... reacting."
"Reacting to what?" Lance asked, voice barely a whisper.
"To you."
She stepped closer, eyes scanning the dark corners. "You were near the seal when it cracked. It's not just physical—it's cognitive. The symbiote doesn't have to be inside you to start bending your reality."
Lance felt a cold drop roll down his spine.
"So I'm not infected."
Dani shook her head slowly. "Not yet. But it's watching. Learning. Waiting."
The room seemed to pulse with unseen energy, a quiet hunger pressing against his skin.
Lance glanced at Dario again—steady, silent, but somehow more knowing.
He didn't know what was worse: the certainty of infection or the slow, creeping terror of not knowing when the line would be crossed.
Because maybe... the line was already behind him.
He sat on the cot, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the rough fabric, trying to focus on something solid. But every time he blinked, the room shifted slightly—just a fraction—but enough to set his teeth on edge. The edges of the walls blurred, the corners darkened, as if the safe house itself was breathing, watching.
He shook his head sharply, as if clearing static from a radio. No. It's just exhaustion. The chase. The fear. That's all.
But the reflection in the small cracked mirror on the wall didn't lie. His eyes... they weren't quite his. They flickered, like a weak signal fighting through interference.
He caught himself staring for too long, feeling his pulse hammer in his temples. Am I losing it? Or is something else crawling under my skin?
A soft tap beside him made him jump. Dario sat quietly, his gaze unwavering, unblinking, locked onto Lance with an intensity that felt almost human. The dog's tail thumped once, low and deliberate, breaking the silence.
"Hey, buddy," Lance whispered, voice rough. "What are you seeing?"
Dario's eyes didn't waver.
Lance swallowed the lump rising in his throat. If even he sees it...
The room seemed to close in, the stale air thickening like syrup. The faint hum of the lights grew louder, louder—then faded to a near-silence so complete it pressed on his ears.
Memories flickered unbidden—snatches of that grocery store moment. The flickering lights. The sudden weight in his hands. The brief, unexplainable stutter in time.
I was there.
And it saw me.
He pressed his palms against his face, desperate to ground himself. When he pulled them away, the walls looked... different. Edges sharper, but shadows deeper. The floor's cracked linoleum seemed to ripple beneath him.
He forced himself to stand. The room tilted; he grabbed the edge of the desk to steady himself.
"Not real," he muttered. "Not real."
But his voice trembled.
Dani's voice called softly from the other side of the room.
"You okay?"
He wanted to answer. To say he was fine. To pretend the twisting in his mind was nothing more than tiredness.
Instead, he just nodded, though she couldn't see it.
He was anything but okay.
The symbiote was there, in the edges of his sight, in the twisting shadows behind his eyelids. It whispered in the quiet, promising things he couldn't quite hear but felt deep in his bones.
And the worst part?
He didn't know if he could trust himself anymore.
Was that thought his? Or was it theirs?
His heartbeat thundered, and he blinked hard—hoping the room would stop spinning, hoping the dog's steady presence was a lifeline in the madness.
But deep down, Lance knew the nightmare had only just begun.