My hands clamped around the edges of the sink like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.
Cold porcelain bit into my palms. Water dripped from the tap in slow, lazy plinks.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
You've survived instant noodles three nights in a row, Zhang.
You can survive… whatever the hell that was with Mommy Dearest.
I lifted my head.
The mirror stared back.
Leonard's face—my face now—pale, sharp, dark hair slicked back from the splash. Brown eyes haunted, carrying the look of someone who'd aged ten years in ten minutes.
Fair.
Then the reflection… shifted.
Just a twitch at first.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Too wide.
Too wrong.
The eyes hollowed—empty pits staring straight through me.
I glanced down.
My hands—
Soaked in blood.
Crimson streamed from my fingers, warm and sticky, pooling in the sink like I'd just finished carving something apart.
"What—?"
I snapped my gaze back up.
The distorted Leonard grinned ear to ear, skin paling to corpse-gray.
"Leave."
The voice layered—mine, rotting underneath.
"Give it back."
My breath hitched.
The mirror rippled.
A hand punched through.
No shatter. Just liquid distortion.
Rotten flesh. Blood-slick fingers wrapped around my wrist.
Cold.
A freezing burn shot up my arm as nails dug in.
"Give my body back!"
The scream tore out of me as it yanked me closer, dragging my face toward the glass.
"Get off—!"
"Leave! Give it back! Leave! Give it back!"
The stench of blood filled the room.
My mind raced.
Leonard.
The real one?
A soul remnant? A curse? A pissed-off echo furious about a squatter in his skin?
Snark flared—desperate armor.
Great. A ghost eviction notice. Body theft edition. Romantic.
But humor didn't stop the pull.
The mirror loomed inches from my face, cold and hungry.
Shadow manipulation.
Leonard's foundation.
I raised my free arm, trembling, whispering words my mind didn't know but my body did. Black tendrils erupted from my fingertips, thick and alive, writhing with intent.
The thing snarled. Its grip tightened.
Rotten flesh sloughed away under shadow pressure.
I bared my teeth.
"Look," I hissed. "I didn't ask for this. Fate's just screwed up like that. I liked you as a character, alright? Brooding hero, tragic past—very marketable."
A cold smile curved my lips.
"But now?"
The shadows surged.
"Now I'm you."
They wrapped around its arm. Neck. Torso.
I pulled.
It screamed—high and shrill, fading into nothing as the mirror swallowed it whole.
Gone.
I slammed back into the door, chest heaving, legs weak.
Adrenaline crashed.
My hands—
Still bloody.
Real this time.
"Leonard?" A voice called softly from outside.
Shit.
Astoria.
Leonard always wore gloves.
Black leather—hanging neatly on a hook.
I slipped them on. Perfect fit. Like the body remembered before I did.
One last glance at the mirror.
Normal.
Haunted—but normal.
I opened the door.
The living room spread wide—gothic elegance wrapped in warm lamplight. High ceilings. Dark wood panels. Shadows stretched long and polite.
Astoria lounged on the plush couch.
Golden hair spilled over her shoulders like silk. High cheekbones. Flawless skin. Green eyes sharp and measuring beneath lazy lids.
Gray high-collar attire hugged her form, embroidered with pink-and-white floral patterns that twisted like living vines. A gold choker gleamed at her throat, pearl catching the light.
Nobility distilled.
Steel hidden in silk.
"Took you long enough," she said lightly. "You never linger. What's changed?"
Mask on.
Leonard's mask.
I met her gaze, expression flat. Half-smirk. Detached.
"Trivial," I said coolly. "You worry too much."
She narrowed her eyes. "The landlord again? Water supply?"
"If that top-hat fool shows his face, I'll deal with it. Like always."
She rose, graceful and predatory, circling me with open scrutiny.
Then—sudden warmth.
She pulled me into an embrace, pressed a kiss to my cheek. Lingering. Possessive.
I stiffened—then patted her back. Awkward, but the body knew the script.
Astoria giggled.
The sound crawled.
Handsome and stoic as always, her eyes said. Midnight's blood sang in her smile.
"Got a surprise for you."
The front door creaked open.
Rain-scent rushed in.
Ariis stepped inside.
Pale blond hair tied low. Ice-blue eyes sharp and unreadable. Olive-green trench coat bristling with leather straps and metal buckles. Black gloves flexed as he shut the door.
He looked at me.
Assessed.
Didn't smile.
The fallen prince. Heir of the Changing Star. Midnight's adopted blade.
Truth incarnate, blunt and merciless.
Astoria returned, waving two tickets. Grinning jester masks printed bold.
"Circus!" she chirped. "We need it."
She clung to my arm, blocking Ariis's stare.
His eyes lingered.
Unconvinced.
Silent.
We readied to leave.
Rain fell harder outside.
As we stepped into the street, far above—on a shadowed rooftop—
A figure watched.
Raven-black hair whipped in the wind. Massive black cape flowing like living darkness. Skeletal-gloved hand resting on an elegant, massive sword.
Zion.
Heir of the Treasured Sword of Solace.
I felt his gaze settle on me.
A chill sliced through the rain.
Yeah…
Something was coming.