The screen was black.
The basement was silent.
And my heartbeat was so loud it could've been mistaken for a damn drum solo.
No one moved. Not even Nyx, who usually had some snarky remark locked and loaded for moments like this.
Finally, Seraphine spoke. Barely above a whisper.
"She saw us."
No joke, no sarcasm, no witty witchy remark. Just three words that dropped like bricks in my stomach.
"Wait," I stammered, holding up the camera like it was radioactive, "you mean… like, really saw us? As in, the spooky doppelgänger looked through the footage and said 'oh hey, nice basement décor'?"
Seraphine's pale hands clenched into fists. "Not looked. Connected. That was not playback—it was overlap."
Overlap.
That word alone made me wish I had something stronger than reheated coffee in my veins.
---
We sat there for a long time, just… not knowing what to do. The kind of silence where your own breathing sounds guilty.
Nyx finally broke it by licking tuna juice off her paw and muttering, "Well, congratulations, human. Your broken toy now streams live content from the wrong side of the veil. Hope you're proud."
I set the camera down very carefully, like it might explode. "Oh, sure, yeah, this is exactly what I wanted when I bought this model. High-def, night vision, and a feature where shadow-demons peek into my soul. Really great value, five stars."
Seraphine didn't laugh. She didn't even blink. She just stared at the dark lens, her jaw tight.
"I need to know if it's still… watching," she said at last.
"Nope." I shoved the camera away like a bad plate of leftovers. "Absolutely not. That thing goes back in the bag, the bag goes in a box, the box goes in the ocean. Done."
Nyx yawned. "And when it swims back to shore? What then?"
I glared at her. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Of course," the cat said smoothly. "This is entertainment."
---
Hours blurred. The café upstairs creaked with the sound of a city trying to heal itself after a nightmare, the occasional car rolling past as dawn crept in behind the curtains.
We brewed new coffee. Not because it helped, but because holding a mug gave my hands something to do besides shake.
Seraphine looked worn out—dark crescents under her eyes, hair tangled, shoulders heavy. But even like that, she carried herself with this quiet dignity. Like she'd been tired for centuries and just accepted it.
"You should sleep," I said softly.
She shook her head. "Can't. Not when we don't know what's coming through next."
Nyx burped (yes, cats burp), then curled up on the counter like she had no worries in the world. "One of us has the right idea. Hint: it isn't you two."
I sipped my coffee, scalded my tongue, and muttered, "Fantastic. We're haunted by shadows, stalked by trench-coat creeps, and the only one relaxed is the demon-cat. Truly inspiring."
---
Eventually, against all reason, I picked up the camera again. Because curiosity kills more than cats.
The lens was cracked, dirtied, useless for any proper cinematography. But when I pressed play again, the footage wasn't blank.
It was live.
Like a webcam.
The basement was there, on screen—our chairs, our coffee cups, the cat licking her paw. Only there was one difference.
In the corner of the frame stood Shadow-Seraphine.
Not moving. Not blinking. Just standing.
I dropped the camera so fast it nearly cracked the floor.
"Tell me you saw that," I begged.
Seraphine's face had gone ghostly pale. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
Nyx growled, low and primal, fur bristling. "She's… here."
---
And then, the voice.
Not from the screen. Not from the shadows. From everywhere.
"You shouldn't look so surprised."
It was Seraphine's voice—but distorted, doubled, like an echo layered wrong.
The witch gasped, clutching her chest. "No… no, not again…"
Shadow-Seraphine spoke through her.
"You split yourself once," the echo said. "You tore your soul to bind me. Did you think the tether would never tighten?"
I had no idea what that meant, but Seraphine did. Her eyes filled with something I'd never seen on her face before. Not fear. Not anger.
Guilt.
"Leave," she whispered.
The echo laughed. "I already have a body. I just need yours to remember."
The camera flickered. The screen showed not one basement, but two, overlapping like badly synced film reels. In one, we sat in terror. In the other, shadows leaned closer, grinning.
---
When tension hits a breaking point, your brain does stupid things to cope.
Mine decided to blurt out:
"So, uh… anyone else think we should invest in a GoPro instead?"
Nyx hissed at me like I'd insulted her ancestors. Seraphine looked like she might pass out.
Okay, not my best timing.
But it did snap Seraphine back to herself. She slammed her hand on the table and barked a chant so sharp the air itself seemed to split.
The screen shattered into static.
The voice was gone.
For now.
---
We sat in the ruin of silence again, surrounded by coffee stains, broken glass, and one smug cat licking her whiskers.
Seraphine's breathing slowed, but her hands still shook. "She's closer than I thought."
"Who?" I asked. "Because if it's evil-you-from-the-upside-down, I'd like to formally submit a request to never film her again."
Seraphine didn't answer. She just looked at me with this unreadable mix of fear and… something heavier. Something personal.
Nyx broke the tension with a lazy flick of her tail. "It seems the director of our little film has finally realized the cast is doubled."
"Funny," I muttered, "except no one bought tickets to this horror sequel."
---
As dawn finally broke fully, Seraphine stood and pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders.
"We have to move," she said.
"Move?" I asked. "Like… from the café?"
"From here," she replied. "The city isn't safe. Not while she knows how to follow us."
"She?" I pressed.
Seraphine finally met my eyes. And in that moment, I realized the stranger in the trench coat wasn't our biggest problem.
It was her.
Or rather—the other her.