The storm outside hadn't stopped. It roared against the windows as if trying to break in, each flash of lightning throwing the room into stuttering fragments of light and shadow.
Emma stared at Luke.
"What do you mean, it didn't want you to tell me?"
Luke turned toward the darkened hallway. The blanket over the mirror shifted slightly, as though the glass was breathing beneath it.
He didn't look back at her when he said, "Because it followed me back."
Emma's pulse hammered in her throat. "You mean the fire?"
He shook his head slowly. "Not the fire. The thing inside it."
There was silence. Only the storm, and somewhere deep in the walls — the faintest scraping, like nails dragging across wood.
Luke rubbed a hand over his face. "When I woke up that night, I wasn't… me. Not completely. I remember the flames, I remember trying to reach you — but then something spoke. It said it could save me. I just had to let it in."
Emma stepped closer. "And you did."
He looked up. There was something hollow in his eyes. "I thought it was you, Emma. The voice sounded like you."
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Then the blanket slipped from the mirror.
Emma gasped. The reflection showed the room exactly as it was — except Luke wasn't in it. Instead, his reflection stood behind her, smiling faintly, one hand resting on her shoulder.
But she felt nothing.
Luke's real voice came from across the room, trembling: "Emma… don't look at it."
She couldn't move. The reflection tilted its head, lips curling. The same whisper as before, now sharp and clear:
"You promised to burn with him."
The lights flickered once — and the reflection reached out from the glass.