Somewhere in the lower city—
on a street with no name, under lights that never turned on—
a mirror cracked.
The shattering made no sound.
But it was heard.
In a room no one remembered renting, the man inside sat up.
His eyes opened.
No pupils.
No focus.
Just pale silver glass behind the lids—reflecting light that wasn't there.
He exhaled.
No breath came.
He moved like memory.
Every motion smooth, silent, rehearsed. His bare feet touched the floorboards without sound. He stood, dressed, layered his long gray coat over his frame, and fastened each clasp with ritual precision.
His hands paused only once—
when they passed the mirror.
It was shattered, but still standing.
A jagged thing of sharp lines and silver veins.
In its surface, everything in the room was visible.
Except him.
Down the stairwell, out the door.
His coat did not flutter.
The air did not move around him.
He passed under a streetlamp—its bulb popped and smoked.
A stray cat on the curb froze, stared, then collapsed in stillness without a sound.
No one looked at him.
No one saw him.
The world rejected him, and he moved through it untouched.
Across the city, above the burnt remains of St. Catherines' west wing, a gray shimmer lingered.
It couldn't be seen by light.
It couldn't be felt by heat.
But it was there.
A scar.
The man arrived before dawn.
He did not enter the ruins. He didn't need to.
The fracture had left residue—ribbons of memory woven into the ash, the floor, the air itself.
He knelt by the edge of the wreckage, touched two fingers to the stone.
Closed his eyes.
Fracture Host #002… confirmed.
Temporal signature: active.
Alignment: unstable. Human integrity—declining.
His voice was like glass dragged through blood.
"He's new."
"Still trying to make sense of it."
"Good."
He stood.
Smoke curled briefly around his sleeves, then vanished.
He turned to the east—toward the edge of the city. Somewhere beyond that skyline, Elias Ward was walking into morning.
Codex activation within 24 hours.
Scar proximity exceeds containment threshold.
Execute protocol: Ghost Hunter.
He began to walk.
The world did not echo beneath his steps.
His shadow did not follow.