There are moments, fractures in time, where a decision becomes a pivot, and a man splits, not into two, but into all the things he might become. Elias stood at such a fracture, though he would not recognize it until later. For now, the ground beneath him was steady, but his soul was not.
It was early evening when Rae left.
Not with a slam of the door. Not with tears. No grand declarations. Just silence. She packed in methodical sweeps: laptop, files, the flash drive with Roe's notes, her coat. Each item was an act of retreat. Elias didn't stop her.
"You're not telling me everything," Rae said flatly, her voice low. "You say you don't know what's happening to you, but that mirror... that lab, that name on the files, E. Krane. That was your old thesis alias. You lied to me, Elias."
He stood in the narrow kitchen of the safehouse, hands trembling as he stirred tea he wouldn't drink. Steam curled upward, vanishing into the pale light. "I didn't lie. I didn't know. I still don't."
"No," she replied, slipping her laptop into the case, "you just forgot. Or maybe you chose to. I don't know which is worse."
He said nothing. She left.
The Watcher's voice followed after her like a shadow: Ah, departures. Humans rarely handle them cleanly. Still, this one was almost elegant. She will miss him, more than she thinks.
The quiet that followed Rae's departure clung to Elias like frost. He moved to the desk, unlocking the drawer to pull out the mirror again. It had been pulsing faintly since morning, as though aware of something its bearer was not. He traced the etched runes along the frame with a gloved finger.
A noise. A click.
He turned.
The lights flickered. Someone was inside the safehouse.
Elias moved silently, drawing the small pistol he'd stashed beneath the floorboards. He stepped out into the narrow hallway.
A figure in a dark coat emerged from the shadows.
"You," Elias said, breath sharp.
The figure lunged.
They fought in silence, the kind that shatters breath. Blows exchanged like secrets, one-handed and brutal. The attacker's movements were too precise. Too calculated. Someone trained. Elias dodged a knife, his shoulder catching the blade's edge. Blood bloomed through his shirt.
The mirror, on the floor nearby, pulsed.
The attacker noticed it, too late. Elias kicked him backward. The figure stumbled, right onto the relic.
A blast of light.
Time fractured.
Elias wasn't sure what happened next—only that the room spun, the mirror surged, and memory fractured.
He was falling.
But not physically.
He saw flashes: a burning city, chants in an ancient tongue, a woman's hand reaching for his. Then, nothing. Just the Watcher's whisper:
You are a man made of borrowed names. Do you think you can solve a murder without first solving the mirror in your own skin?
He woke on the floor.
The attacker was gone.
So was the mirror.
Blood dripped from his chin. His hand was shaking. His thoughts were shards.
And something, a memory, was missing. A name he should remember. A face. Someone important.
Elias tried to sit upright, breathing hard. He opened his mouth to call Rae.
He paused.
Rae who?
A chill fell through him like snow.