The basement stank of rust and damp concrete. Pipes hissed above, dripping a steady rhythm that filled the silence between heartbeats. Georgina's pulse hammered, echoing in her ears.
Two Ethans. One standing tall, hand outstretched. One slumped on the floor, bleeding, lips barely moving.
Her throat ached from holding back a scream.
The standing Ethan's voice was low, firm. "Georgina. Take my hand. You don't have time to think. We have to leave before it comes back."
The word it sliced into her chest like ice. She remembered the hand pressing through the mirror, the reflection that hadn't been her own. The whispers. The photograph rewriting itself.
But the Ethan on the ground—blood seeping through his shirt—dragged in a rattling breath. His eyes, dark with pain but burning with urgency, fixed on hers.
"Don't… trust him," he whispered.
And in that single moment, Georgina felt more terror than she had in her entire life. Because whichever one she chose, she might be choosing death.
The standing Ethan moved closer, his footsteps measured, careful. Too careful. Like a predator masking itself as human.
"Look at me," he said gently. "Do you remember when we first swapped? You panicked. I tried to calm you. I told you to breathe. That's not something a stranger would know."
Her stomach twisted. That was true.
But the Ethan on the floor rasped out words again, voice hoarse. "I never laughed. He said I laughed. That's how you know. He's not me."
The memory cut sharp. The impostor had slipped, revealing what he thought had happened.
Georgina's hand shook as she raised it. "Stay back."
The standing Ethan froze. His smile cracked, just for a second.
And in that crack, something flickered behind his eyes. A shadow.
Not Ethan.
Not human.
The figure tilted its head, the smile stretching wider, unnatural. "Clever girl."
Before she could move, it lunged.
Ethan—the real Ethan—forced himself up despite the pain in his ribs. His vision blurred, but he grabbed Georgina's arm and yanked her sideways, pulling her out of the impostor's grasp. They stumbled together into the narrow side corridor, concrete walls scraping their shoulders.
"Run!" Ethan barked.
They sprinted, footsteps pounding in unison. Behind them, the thing screeched—a sound like glass shattering underwater, high-pitched and wrong. The sound reverberated through the pipes, shaking the corridor.
A door loomed ahead, steel and rusted. Ethan shoved it open, dragging Georgina through into a storage room filled with crates and broken furniture. He slammed it shut, bracing his body against it.
The handle rattled almost immediately, shaking violently.
Georgina clutched her chest, struggling to breathe. "What—what is it?"
Ethan pressed harder against the door, face pale. "It's what came through the mirror. It's been wearing me since the swap. That's why I was still trapped. It wanted… you."
The door shook so hard it nearly tore off its hinges. Ethan's voice dropped, urgent. "We need to move. Now."
Upstairs, Madison stood frozen in front of the cracked mirror.
Her reflection smiled at her again—her own face, but wrong. Too sharp at the edges, too knowing.
"Madison," it purred, though its lips didn't move. The sound came from inside her skull. "You've always wondered why your father kept secrets. Why he locked away the truth. Don't you want to know?"
Madison's pulse skittered. She forced out a whisper. "You're not real."
The reflection tilted its head. "I'm more real than your stepmother ever was. More real than Georgina. She doesn't deserve what's yours."
Her mouth went dry. "What are you talking about?"
The reflection leaned closer. The cracks in the mirror spread like veins, pulsing faintly. "The house. The money. The legacy. Your father chose her. Always her. Even after she was supposed to be gone."
Madison's hands shook. She remembered the way her father had spoken Georgina's name even at family dinners, like an apology. She remembered overhearing arguments, whispers about wills, documents.
Her reflection smiled wider. "I can give you what you want. All you have to do… is let me through."
For one terrifying heartbeat, Madison almost raised her hand to the glass.
Back in the storage room, Ethan shoved a broken table in front of the door just as the handle snapped clean off. A gaping hole remained, darkness pressing against it. Fingers—too long, too sharp—slipped through the opening, scraping against wood.
Georgina screamed.
Ethan grabbed her hand and pulled her deeper into the room, weaving through crates. "There has to be another exit."
They stumbled upon a ladder leading up to a trapdoor. Ethan climbed first despite the pain in his ribs, shoving the hatch upward. Moonlight spilled through.
"Hurry!" he urged.
Georgina scrambled up behind him, her chest tight with terror. She risked one last glance down.
The door had splintered. A shape was forcing itself through. Its head bent at an impossible angle to squeeze, eyes glowing faintly in the dark.
She pushed herself faster, heart in her throat. Ethan hauled her up and out, slamming the hatch shut behind them.
They collapsed in an alleyway, the cold night air burning their lungs.
For a few moments, neither spoke. Just breathing. Alive.
Then Ethan turned to her, his eyes dark with guilt. "This is my fault. I thought it was over when we switched back. But it wasn't. It followed me. And now it won't stop until it gets what it wants."
Georgina's voice trembled. "And what does it want?"
Ethan's jaw clenched. "You."
Madison's hand hovered inches from the mirror's surface. Her reflection watched eagerly, eyes glowing faintly beneath the glass.
"Just a touch," it whispered. "And everything you deserve is yours."
But before she could decide, the lights in the apartment flickered again.
Another voice joined the first. A woman's. Soft, familiar.
"Don't listen."
Madison froze.
Her reflection scowled, lips twisting. The cracks in the mirror rippled violently, like something else was fighting to surface.
Then she saw it—another figure behind her reflection. A woman's face, pale but warm.
Georgina's mother.
Her voice echoed faintly: "Protect her. Don't let it win."
Madison stumbled back, her chest heaving. Two voices, two truths, two impossible choices.
Her reflection screamed. The glass spiderwebbed further, the cracks glowing.
And Madison realized the mirror wasn't offering—it was demanding.
Down in the alley, Ethan pulled himself upright, his shirt sticky with blood. Georgina hovered beside him, torn between helping and running.
"What do we do?" she whispered.
Ethan's eyes met hers, hard with determination. "We find your mother. She knows more than she told you. If she's alive—she's the only one who can stop this."
Before Georgina could reply, a sound drifted from above.
The shatter of glass.
They both looked up at the apartment windows just in time to see the mirror explode outward, shards cascading like rain.
And in the fragments, just before they fell, Georgina saw reflections of everyone she loved—Ethan, Madison, her mother—each one screaming silently from the other side.
The alley was plunged into shadow.
And something crawled out from the darkness above.