Speed's feet dragged across the cold tile of the bathroom floor.
The mirror was already fogged from the shower he'd taken yesterday—or was it two days ago? His brain felt like oatmeal. Everything felt like oatmeal. He opened the medicine cabinet without looking, found his toothbrush by muscle memory alone, grabbed the paste.
The bristles were stiff. He'd need to replace it soon.
He shoved the brush in his mouth and started working on his teeth, the motions automatic. Brush up. Brush down. Don't think about the dream. Don't think about falling through nothing. Don't think about that voice asking if you're still watching.
Since I was twelve years old, I've been having the same dream.
The thought came unbidden, settling in his skull like it had always been there. Because it had always been there. Twelve years. That was seven years of dreaming the same thing over and over. Angels. War. Fire. Demons. All of it bleeding into each other, all of it feeling more real every single time. And this morning was different. This morning felt like the dream had grabbed onto him and refused to let go even after his eyes opened.
Speed spit, rinsed his mouth. The water was cold enough to make his gums ache.
I don't know what it means. But it's getting worse.
His reflection stared back at him from the mirror—or at least, what he could see of it through the fog. Dark rings under his eyes. The kind that didn't wash off. The kind that came from sleeping only in fragments, from waking up at 3 AM drenched in sweat and not being able to fall back asleep because your brain was busy replaying the same nightmare on loop. His skin looked gray. Actual gray, like all the color had drained out during the night.
Man, I'm not getting enough sleep.
Speed touched the bags under his eyes, pressed his fingers into the soft skin there. It didn't hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. That was almost worse than pain. Pain meant your body was still fighting. This numb feeling meant surrender.
He washed his face. The water was ice-cold. It helped. Just a little. Just enough to remind him he was awake, he was real, he was in his bathroom in Ohio and not floating through a void watching angels tear each other apart. Not watching his own fall. Not waiting for the next time the dream came back stronger.
Speed finished brushing, took a step back.
He looked at himself in the mirror one more time. Really looked. His dark eyes were flat—exhausted but determined. Eren Yeager energy, the kind of stare that said I'm going to keep moving forward no matter what tries to stop me. His jaw was clenched. Had it been clenched this whole time? Probably.
Speed took a breath. Forced his shoulders to relax. The tension didn't leave. It never did.
"Okay, Darren," he said aloud, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. His voice sounded foreign. Like someone else was saying it from inside his throat. "Let's go again."
The words felt hollow. They always felt hollow. But saying them was like grabbing onto something solid in the dark. A ritual. A promise. I'm going to keep moving forward no matter what tries to stop me. Even if the dream came back. Even if tonight was worse than last night.
Speed turned to walk out.
Behind him—in the mirror's reflection, where Speed wasn't looking anymore—something flickered.
His back. His bare shoulder blade, visible above the line of his tank top. The skin there suddenly glowed red. Not like a rash. Not like inflammation. Like something was burning underneath, trying to push through.
A sigil.
An archangel's mark. Michael's symbol—intricate, geometric, perfect in its malevolence. It blazed bright gold for half a second, maybe less. A pulse. A heartbeat. A warning written in light.
Then it faded.
The glow died. The red faded back to normal skin tone. The mark disappeared like it had never been there at all, like it was just the fog on the mirror playing tricks, like it was the morning light hitting wrong.
Speed was already closing the door behind him.
He didn't see it.
But it had been there.
And somewhere in the spaces between dimensions, something that had been watching the whole time smiled.