Sarah stepped closer.
The mirror didn't show her. Only Ace. Standing alone, mouth slightly open, like he was mid-sentence.
"Ace," she whispered.
He looked up. "What?"
She pointed to the glass. "You see me, right?"
He turned to the mirror. His face paled.
"No," he said. "Only me."
Sarah reached out a hand and touched the glass.
Cold. Wet.
The reflection rippled.
And then she appeared.
Not Sarah.
The other one.
Hair tangled, eyes hollow. The version of her that had lived under Hal's roof. Survived him. Endured him. The one who had learned to smile with her teeth clenched, to lie with her eyes.
The one who never really left.
The version of her that had loved cruelty because it was the only thing that noticed her.
The mirror-Sarah leaned forward, pressed her hand to the same spot on the glass.
And mouthed one word.
"Mine."
Sarah stumbled back.
The flashlight hit the ground. Rolled. The beam caught a shape in the far corner.
A shadow, crouched.
Watching.
Ace saw it too.
He moved fast—knife in hand, stepping between Sarah and the dark.
But the thing didn't move.
It didn't have to.
It spoke without sound.
"Let me in."
Sarah grabbed Ace's wrist. "We need to leave. Now."
They backed up the stairs, not looking away until they slammed the basement door shut and locked it.
Sarah turned, breath ragged. "That wasn't a reflection. That was a memory."
"No," Ace said, locking the deadbolt. "That was something using a memory."
Sarah blinked.
"What if it's not just haunting you?" he added, his voice grim. "What if it's trying to become you?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Sarah whispered, "Then we have a problem."
Ace nodded. "Because something like that doesn't want you dead, Sarah."
He looked her in the eyes.
"It wants to replace you."