And Jess had been there to see it all.
She’d tried to keep her distance, a half-step back, eyes sharp even when she laughed, but I’d caught the moments where her guard slipped. The way her fingers brushed the plush octopus I’d won for her. The way her gaze lingered when she thought I wasn’t looking. That wasn’t just wariness. That was attraction.
In the Mirror Realm, you didn’t get wonder. You got silence and shadows and a constant ache under your ribs. You watched people live and knew you’d never touch what they have.
Until now.
I leaned against the railing, staring out at the dark water below. The tide pulled in slow and heavy. For a heartbeat, I saw my reflection in its surface, silver eyes, perfect smile, but the water shimmered, and behind me, the faint outline of my other world bled through. Grey skies. Still air. No sound but my own breathing.
A reminder.
I looked away. I wasn’t going back there. Not when here the air itself tasted like life. Not when Jess was starting to look at me like I was more than a reflection.
She’d send me back if she could. I knew that. But maybe… maybe she wouldn’t want to. And if she hesitated, even for a second, I could take that second and make it forever.
Sometimes I thought about ending Nate, making this life mine without the shadow of the original. But the bond’s a leash and if I cut it, I get yanked right back into the grey. So, I keep him breathing, just enough to hold the thread tight.
Chapter 10
Jess
The smell of salt and fried dough still clung to my hoodie. I could still feel him, his chest pressed against mine, solid and warm, each slow breath matching the roll of the waves behind us. Heat had bled through my jacket, sinking deep, until I couldn’t tell if it was from the night air or from him. I’d washed my hands twice, but my skin still prickled where his fingers had brushed mine.
I told myself I wouldn’t think about him after the boardwalk. I told myself I wouldn’t remember the way he looked at the ocean, or the way his hand rested on the railing like he belonged here. But the moment I caught my reflection in the shop window, he was there in my head, anyway.
I was halfway through brushing my hair that night when my bedroom mirror moved.
Not shimmered like before. Moved.
The glass rippled, and there he was, Nate. The real Nate. His face was pale, his brown eyes wide, and he was banging on the inside of the glass like a trapped mime in a very bad dream.
I dropped my hairbrush. “Oh, my God.”
He was shouting something, but no sound made it through. I pressed my hand to the mirror; he pressed his to the same spot. The surface was ice cold, and for a second, I thought maybe I could pull him through. But the harder he banged, the weaker he looked, like the effort was draining him.
A shadow moved behind him.
I didn’t need to see the silver glint to know who it was. Etan stepped into view, his expression unreadable. With one smooth motion, he draped an arm across Nate’s shoulders and pulled him back into the darkness.
The mirror went still.
“He should already be weak as paper,” Raven said, eyes sharp. “The only reason he’s still standing is because Etan’s feeding him scraps of the real world. It keeps the anchor stable. If Nate goes, Etan’s thread to this side snaps.”
“What if he changes anchors, will Nate be lost?” I asked, panicking about Etan finding a new anchor.
“Anchors aren’t optional,” Raven said, flipping a tarot card over with his beak like he was bored. “Once you’re tied to someone’s soul, that’s it. No trade-ins, no do-overs.”
“So, he couldn’t just switch to me?”
Raven gave me a look. “He could try. But the moment the original anchor dies, the bond snaps and whatever’s bound gets yanked back to where it came from. If Etan kills Nate, he goes right back into the mirror. Trust me, he does not want to go back there.”
“That’s why he’s not just keeping Nate alive, he’s studying him. Every habit, every friend, every teacher, every little thing that makes people believe he’s Nate. Parents, too. The better he integrates into Nate’s life, the harder it is for anyone to spot the seams.”
“So, he’s what? Playing house?”
“Playing you all,” Raven said. “The longer he pulls it off, the longer he stays here.”
He hopped onto my desk, feathers bristling. “If you want to cut that thread, we need to find a way to shove him back through the veil. That means finding one of the seams the thinnest spots between here and the Mirror Realm.”
