Rain hammered the windows, a thousand restless fingers tapping in time with the hard, steady thud of my heartbeat. The hotel room sat in shadow, its only light a bedside lamp that flickered and sent restless shapes crawling across the walls. I lay awake all night, replaying each word, each glance, and the faint tremor in his voice. Adrian slipped out without a word, not even a hint of where he was headed. That alone was strange—he usually kept a tight grip on everything, mapping out exactly where I belonged, like a piece placed just so on his chessboard. This time—absolutely nothing. Not even the faint hum I'd been expecting. I kept telling myself it didn't matter, like shrugging off a pebble in my shoe. I was only a visitor in his world—dangerous, draped in velvet, and dizzying—but every nerve in me said otherwise. At 2:17 a.m., my phone buzzed sharp against the nightstand. A single message, sharp as a knock on the door. Definitely not from him—he couldn't have sent it; his handwriting is nothing like that sharp, slanted scrawl. Don't trust the man at your side—his smile hides more than it shows. He's not the person he claims to be, like a stranger wearing a borrowed smile. The message popped up from a number I didn't recognize. My fingers trembled on the keys as I typed, "Who is this?"No one answered—just silence, like a phone left ringing in an empty room. I kept telling myself it was only a prank, like someone had slipped a fake spider into my desk drawer. The call wasn't for me—a stranger's voice asking for someone I'd never heard of. But the words sank deep, each letter catching like a fishhook in my skin. I finally pushed myself to get up and headed to the bathroom, where cold water stung my cheeks. That's when I spotted it—a flash of red in the corner of my eye. The mirror caught the light, flashing a quick glint like water in the sun. It wasn't quite my reflection—more like something other, watching from the glass. For half a heartbeat, I moved—but my reflection stayed frozen, like it was holding its breath. I stopped cold, breath caught in my throat. My mind raced for an explanation—maybe a trick of the light, maybe just fatigue—but the truth felt like ice in my chest. In the mirror, "I" kept smiling back, though my own lips stayed still. A cold weight sank in my gut. Then the "me" in the mirror leaned in, lips shaping silent words, eyes catching the light with a sharp, alien malice. My back slammed into the wall, and the lamp flickered—once, twice—before dying with a soft pop. The dark closed in, heavy as a wool blanket, until I could barely breathe. I lurched back and snatched for my phone, fumbling to flick on its thin beam of light. By the time the beam sliced through the dark, the mirror had returned to its usual, glassy calm. In the mirror, my reflection blinked—skin pale, hands trembling. I could've brushed it off as my mind playing tricks, but somewhere deep, under the steady thump of my heartbeat, I knew the truth. Something seeped through the frayed edges of reality, a glimpse I was never meant to catch. And Adrian kept it from me, tucking it away like a note in a locked drawer. The click of the lock snapping open sent my pulse racing. He strolled in as if nothing were amiss, rain still dripping from his black coat, hair tousled, eyes giving nothing away."You're awake," he said smoothly, shrugging off his coat.
"You're awake," he said with easy calm, sliding his coat from his shoulders."Where were you?"
His lips curled into a faint smile. "Business."
"Business at three in the morning?" I pressed.
"Some business doesn't wait for daylight," he replied, pouring himself a glass of whiskey like this was just another night. "Why the interrogation?"
I hesitated. I made my voice hold steady, though it felt like walking a tightrope."Where were you?" His lips tugged into a faint smile, as if he'd just caught the scent of fresh coffee."No reason," I lied.
"Business."
"At three in the morning?" I asked, my voice cutting through the quiet like a snapped twig."Some business can't wait for daylight," he said, splashing amber whiskey into a glass as if it were any other night."Why the interrogation?" I paused, fingers drumming lightly against my knee. Every nerve in her body told her to stay quiet, to keep the message—and the cold, silver mirror—locked away in silence."If you ever lie to me," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "make sure you're good at it."
The air between us turned to ice. Not just yet."No reason," I said, though the lie sat sharp on my tongue."Get dressed. But I felt his eyes on me—steady and sharp, like the scrape of a blade."You'll see."
An hour later, we were driving through a part of the city I'd never seen before. He could tell I was keeping something from him, like a door I wouldn't open. Without a word, he closed the distance in three unhurried steps, his palm warm as it curled under my chin. His touch felt soft, almost careful, yet his eyes—sharp and restless—scanned her face like they might catch a flicker of doubt."If you ever lie to me," he said softly, the edge in his tone sharp as broken glass, "you'd better be damn good at it." The air between us went cold. I swallowed hard and kept my eyes fixed, refusing to glance aside. He let go and took a step back, the floorboards creaking under his heel."Come on, get your clothes on.""We're heading out."
"Where to?" I asked."You'll see." An hour later, we were winding through narrow streets lined with flickering neon signs in a part of the city I didn't recognize. The streets lay silent, buildings faded and worn, their edges sinking into the dark. He pulled up short in front of an abandoned warehouse, its rusted doors hanging crooked on their hinges. No signs, no lights—only a gaping black doorway that swallowed the faint smell of dust. Inside, the air clung damp against the skin and carried a faint tang of rust, like old pipes in a dark basement. He guided me through rows of dusty wooden crates, then stopped in front of a steel door secured with a heavy lock. He didn't pause—just slid the key in and turned it."This," he said, "is the truth you weren't supposed to see. The sight inside made my stomach clench, as if ice water had rushed through my veins.