Rikk couldn’t sleep. The mirror lay on the floor where he’d dropped it, its chipped glass glinting faintly in the moonlight that slipped through his curtains. The storm had quieted to a drizzle, but the air in his room buzzed with something electric, something wrong. He kept replaying the voice in his head—“They’ve found you”—and the way the silver-eyed boy had smirked, like he knew something Rikk didn’t. It was ridiculous. Mirrors didn’t talk. Reflections didn’t change. And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
He rolled onto his side, pulling the quilt up to his chin, but his eyes darted back to the mirror. It hadn’t moved, hadn’t glowed or whispered again, but it felt like a living thing, waiting. He should’ve tossed it back in the attic. Or smashed it. Instead, he threw off the covers, grabbed his hoodie from the chair, and knelt beside it. His fingers hesitated over the brass frame before he picked it up, holding it at arm’s length like it might bite.
The reflection was normal this time—his own gray eyes, tired and shadowed, his messy brown hair sticking out from under the hood. No silver, no smirk. He exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. “Just a stupid trick,” he muttered, setting it back on the nightstand. But as he turned away, a faint shimmer rippled across the glass, too quick to be sure he’d seen it.
A creak sounded from the hallway.
Rikk froze, ears straining. Mom and Dad were asleep by now—Dad’s snores usually rattled the house like a freight train. Another creak, softer, deliberate, like a footstep on the old wooden stairs. His heart kicked up, thudding against his ribs. Probably just the house settling. Old houses did that, right? He grabbed his phone, thumb hovering over Jake’s contact, but what would he even say? Hey, my mirror’s haunted, and I think someone’s creeping around my house. Help?
The creak came again, closer. Rikk slipped off the bed, bare feet silent on the rug, and crept to the door. He pressed his ear against it, holding his breath. Nothing. Then—a low, guttural hum, like someone breathing too close to a microphone. It wasn’t coming from the hall. It was coming from the mirror.
He spun around, and there it was: the silver-eyed boy, staring out of the glass, his lips parted as if he’d been caught mid-sentence. The hum stopped. Rikk’s phone slipped from his hand, clattering to the floor. “What do you want?” he hissed, voice barely above a whisper.
The reflection didn’t answer, but the room grew colder, the air thickening like fog. Shadows stretched along the walls, longer than they should’ve been, twisting into shapes that didn’t match the furniture. Rikk stumbled back, his heel catching on the rug, and that’s when he saw it—a figure outside his window. Not on the ground two stories below, but hovering, a silhouette against the rain-streaked glass. It was tall, cloaked, and its edges shimmered like heat off pavement.
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He didn’t scream. He couldn’t. His throat locked up as the figure raised a hand, and the window rattled, the latch clicking open on its own. Wind rushed in, sharp and icy, carrying a smell like charred wood and something metallic. The mirror flared, a pulse of light that stung his eyes, and the silver-eyed boy was gone—replaced by a swirl of violet and gold, like a sky Rikk had never seen.
“Rikk!” Mom’s voice broke through the chaos, shrill and panicked from downstairs. “What’s going on up there?”
The figure vanished, the window slamming shut as if yanked by an invisible string. The shadows snapped back to normal, and the mirror went dark, just a dull piece of junk again. Rikk’s legs gave out, and he sank to the floor, chest heaving. Footsteps pounded up the stairs—Mom and Dad, both of them now, their voices overlapping.
“Rikk, are you okay?”
“What was that noise?”
He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. The room was quiet again, but the charred-metal smell lingered, and his hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Mom burst in first, her robe tied crookedly, hair a wild halo. Dad followed, bleary-eyed but alert, scanning the room like he expected to find a burglar.
“I—I’m fine,” Rikk managed, forcing the words out. “Just... knocked something over. Sorry.”
Mom frowned, stepping closer. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What happened?”
“Nothing,” he lied, shoving the mirror under his pillow with his foot. “Bad dream, I guess. The storm freaked me out.”
Dad grunted, rubbing his face. “Stupid weather. Go back to sleep, kid. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
They lingered for a moment, exchanging a look Rikk couldn’t read, before shuffling back downstairs. He waited until their door clicked shut before pulling the mirror out again. It was cold to the touch, heavier than it should’ve been. He didn’t dare look into it. Instead, he shoved it into his backpack, zipping it tight. Whatever was happening, he wasn’t letting it sit out in the open anymore.
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In the obsidian tower, Lysara’s hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the scrying pool. The water was still, but her mind raced. “They’re already there,” she said, voice sharp with urgency. “The Shades breached the veil.”
The man beside her—Kael, her advisor—tightened his grip on his staff. “The sigils held them back, but barely. He’s not ready, Lysara. He doesn’t even know—”
“He doesn’t need to know yet,” she snapped, cutting him off. “He needs to live. Get the portal ready. We’re bringing him home.”
Kael hesitated, then nodded. “If they reach him first, there’ll be nothing left to bring back.”
Lysara didn’t respond. Her silver eyes stayed fixed on the pool, where the image of Rikk lingered, a boy caught between worlds, unaware of the war spilling toward him. The mirror had called to him, as she’d known it would. Now, it was up to her to make sure he survived what came next.