A thunderous crack tore through the city like an earthquake.
Not natural. Not manmade. Just vast. Stirring.
The world flinched.
So did I.
Birds scattered. Windows shuddered. And I fell out of bed.
Red light flooded through the blinds. Not warm. Not golden. Wrong. It poured through the blinds like blood from a wound.
The Gate of Reflections had opened.
It wasn't dread. It was warning.
The kind the city learned to live with.
I had too. But I hated it.
For a second, I just lay there, blinking at the ceiling. Somewhere below, a car alarm went off, peeking through the Gate's hum like a gasp between crashing waves. But each time it rose, the sound was dragged under again, muffled by that low, unrelenting resonance.
The red faded as the sun rose. Silver light caught on the towers beyond.
Another soul gone. Another Marked.
That was the rhythm now.
And the Gate never stopped humming.
I used to wonder what it felt like. What it felt like to lose someone to the Reverie.
Now, I just hoped it wouldn't be her. Not now. Not ever.
Not when we hadn't even gotten to live first.
But that's how the world worked.
It didn't wait. It didn't stop. Even when it should've.
The thunder faded into a low hum, blanketing the city with white noise.
Soon it would settle. The shard would go still. And the city would pretend it woke peacefully.
Halden City woke with the Gate.
I simply woke with a headache.
My skull still echoed from last night.
The music, neon and engine fumes.
Maybe staying out late the night before the start of the new semester wasn't exactly my brightest idea.
I pushed off the floor, hoodie half off, the cold air slapping against my skin.
The window was open.
I stumbled to the glass, yanked the blinds open, and instantly regretted it. The light hit me full force. I couldn't even see the building opposite. Gleaming, featureless, spotless. The hum of the Gate thrummed through my chest.
I gritted my teeth.
We weren't in one of the top penthouses, but our two-storey studio was high. High enough to fake a better life.
I sneezed, snapping me out of it, and shut the window. The room was freezing. I pulled on my hoodie, dragging it down over my torso. Made a mental note of everything I had to do today, already shifting back into routine.
Drive to school. Go to classes I was failing. Meet friends I'd just seen last night.
And then, finally… Anya.
I was hers. Or atleast used to be.
No good morning message today. Again.
We hadn't seen each other all break.
Anya's messages had gone from delayed… to missing.
Just one text. Weeks ago.
I won't be able to talk or meet up. Sorry.
I knew that love wasn't about keeping count.
But I couldn't help it.
Days, unread messages, moments she didn't need me.
She always had reasons. Her aunt. The weather. Silence.
I never pushed.
I stared at our chat. Hovered. Then sent her a sticker.
Read.
My heart jumped.
She'd seen it.
Hey, you there?
I sent it without thinking. Without breathing.
The bubbles came up-
She was typing.
I watched.
She always said I worried too much. Said I needed to trust her more.
But I should've known where she was. I should've known.
There's something I haven't told you.
What did that mean? Was she hurt? Was she leaving?
Are you okay?
I typed faster than I could think. Called her. Straight to voicemail.
Tried again.
Nothing.
Maybe she meant to say more. Maybe she'd explain at school.
I just sat there. Phone still in hand.
Like if I didn't move, she wouldn't disappear.
But the bubbles never came back.
She was gone.
I instinctively reached for the wallet on the couch. Right where I'd thrown it last night.
But everything else was… wrong.
My clothes folded.
The mess gone.
On my desk, my pens were lined along the back edge. Sketchbook open. The latest page. Another of Anya. Half-finished. Scratched out.
I'd meant to draw her smiling.
But the expression was wrong.
Too calm. Too distant. Like she already knew something I didn't.
I stared at it for a second. Then ripped the page from the coil, crushed it, and tossed it in the bin.
I grabbed the wallet and flipped it to the picture.
Anya.
Mid-laugh. Wild hair, sunlight in her eyes.
A real photo.
One I'd taken on her instant camera; an old one she had found in her parents' things.
Said real moments deserved to be real things.
Now it was just a ghost in my pocket.
Of her.
Of me.
Of the version of us that hadn't started fraying at the edges.
—
Showered. Dressed. Staring at my reflection. For a second, I looked… solid. Like someone who could hold things together. Not shredded, but no longer the scrawny kid Anya had first met.
Kick-boxing had paid off. Even if I only went now to blow off steam.
I flexed once, then let it drop with a sigh.
A hairline crack in the upper corner of the mirror, catching the light.
Barely visible. Easy to miss. But it sliced the edge clean.
I didn't remember it being there before. I leaned in.
Something felt off. Not tired. Not angry. Just… not quite here.
There was a lag in the mirror. Like I was watching someone else, just a second behind.
And I wasn't sure who blinked first.
—
I headed downstairs to join Dad in the living room.
Three of the four seats had been set. A plate of toast sat at the centre of the table, dry, already cooling.
Dad was watching the news.
His coffee sat cold in front of him, half-drunk.
Other half forgotten.
The screen buzzed with another suit ranting about the Gutter.
"They're all corrupt, Dio," he said without looking at me.
He would know.
He worked for them.
The same speech every morning.
"Just keep your sister away from anywhere sketchy," he muttered.
"Especially the lower wards. Gutter kids are getting bold lately."
I nodded.
Even if half the stories were exaggerations, that place made my skin crawl.
Halden's worst-kept secret, a black market stitched beneath the city, where anything could be bought if you paid enough or bled enough.
Horror stories of girls going missing weren't urban legends.
They were weekly news.
But all I could think of was her.
The idea of Anya down there Alone, cold, hunted, gnawed at me like rust under the skin.
She wasn't some story. She wasn't a headline.
She was mine.
I'd protect her.
I had to.
"I work hard so you kids never have to go near a place like that. And one day, you'll need to do the same for your family."
He said it as advice. But lately, it sounded more like a contract I never signed.
His voice just faded into the background, saying things I had already heard a million times before.
"Hey… you still sketching?"
I blinked. It caught me off guard, not the question, but the way he asked it.
Not like he cared, exactly. More like he'd practiced saying it.
Like someone told him, this is what dads are supposed to say.
I just nodded. I hadn't at all these holidays.
Through the window, dawn light caught on the monorail spine cutting through the skyline, its glass compartments already humming to life.
Beneath it, the streets yawned open, vendors dragging carts, surveillance drones weaving past traffic. The city kept moving.
High above, the shard still bled light. It made the apartment feel… exposed.
Lyra came down the stairs, already wearing her school shirt and skirt.
Over her pyjama bottoms and barefoot… She gave me an amused smirk and headed straight for the kitchen, tiptoeing with all the grace of a ballerina trying not to freeze her feet on the cold tiles.
When she ended her waddle at the fridge, Lyra held up the milk in silent question.
I shook my head. No reason to get hooked on caffeine again.
She poured her usual cup of coffee, steam curling in the air, and sat down without a word. Her long hair followed, spilling over her shoulder and resting on the wood like it belonged there. The kitchen always felt too quiet in the mornings.
Three seats taken.
One left untouched.
Lyra had a speech to give.
Homework. School duties. No time to waste.
But she'd wasted it anyway.
Cleaned my room. Opened the blinds. Gone through my sketches.
Just like she used to.
"I made toast for you guys," Dad said.
Oh. Right.
I grabbed a piece. Cold. Tried to pass it to Lyra. She shook her head. I bit into the bread, chewing in quiet defeat.
Lyra held her coffee with both hands, like it was the only warm thing left in the house. Her hair hung around her like a curtain, a little cave she could disappear into, with the mug her campfire.
I was annoyed she never got her license. But secretly, I was glad.
Driving her meant I always knew where she was. What she was doing. Who she was with.
She didn't tell me everything, not anymore, but it was something. Enough.
Dad always said you protect what matters.
Someone in this house had to take it seriously.
She still made time for ballet three times a week. And ran the damn committee like it didn't exhaust her. Somehow still a top-ranking student.
I didn't understand it.
At least her dance studio was near the gym.
One a place for grace. Another for bruises.
—
Dad got up for work. It was just the two of us now.
"So… are you ready for assembly?"
I started, unsure how else to bring up her having cleaned my room.
"Yeah. I've got my speech perfected."
She was texting someone on her phone.
"You didn't even show me your performance this time. You sure you have it memorised?"
She suddenly laughed at something.
A short giggle caught halfway, turning into a snort.
"Sorry, sorry," Lyra said, pulling out her headphones.
I hadn't even noticed them tucked under her hair.
"I would've, but you weren't around." She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.
"Besides. I'm no longer a child. I know how to give a good speech now, Dio."
She looked me in the eyes. I looked at her hair instead.
It was getting long again. Too long.
Mum would always complain about it.
Called it a curtain and threaten to cut it in her sleep.
Now I was the only one it bothered.
The only one it still could.
"Still too much of a child to have your hair braided?"
That caught her off guard. Her gaze dropped. Just for a second, a flicker of embarrassment, quickly masked with a scoff.
"If you want."
The mask was an act, of course.
With my sister, you learned to see through the acts.
Still, I knew how much she liked my braids, even if they weren't perfect.
I rose without a word and stepped behind her. My fingers found their rhythm. Left over right, then right over left. Careful but not perfect. I used to do this every morning before school, when life still ran on routine, and we still had time. I still made time now, sometimes.
She said nothing, but I caught the subtle ease in her posture. It was thanks enough. The soft light caught on the delicate earrings swinging beneath her hair. Mother's.
I wanted to tell her she looked the same. That she didn't need to change. But I wasn't sure if I meant it.
For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered but this.
Then I sneezed.
"Did you not close the window last night?"
Lyra didn't need to ask. She already knew.
"Well, why d'you waste your time cleaning my room?"
"And spend it on what, Dio?"
"I don't know, your speech? Homework?
She turned around as I finished a braid. "Dio… you have to let others help you for a change."
I adjusted the braid one last time.
Smoothed the flyaways behind her ear.
Did her top button and adjusted her tie.
Let my hand rest on her head, just for a moment.
Then stepped back and nodded.
That was all.
Lyra got up, and kissed me on the cheek. "Thank you, Dio."
Then waddled over the cold tiles back to the stairs.
—
For the first time, I was driving us to school.
Lyra leaned forward from the passenger seat, eyes catching on my photo of Anya.
"Hey, have you shown Anya our car yet? What'd she say?"
I didn't have the heart to admit Anya had basically ghosted me all break.
"She's been busy. Anyway, it's my car."
"Nuh uh," Lyra said, already on her phone.
"Dad bought it for both of us."
"Until you get your license, it's mine."
"You know we don't even need one," she muttered, eyes flicking up to the monorail as it wove between the towers, sleek, silent, always on time.
"Trams are faster."
I shrugged.
"Maybe. But this says more."
She rolled her eyes, but didn't argue.
In Halden, everyone understood the difference between moving and arriving.
"Well, I guess that makes you my personal chauffeur. But seriously, are you sure you didn't show Anya the car? You came home late last night. And it smells weird."
I didn't answer.
Let her keep guessing.
Instead, I shifted gears.
"What's up with you and that student president guy? Heard you two were spending a lot of time together last term."
I threw it out like it was nothing, but I'd been holding onto it for days. Maybe longer. With Lyra, you had to wait for the right moment - pretend you weren't trying to protect her, even when you were.
She blinked. "Wh-where's this coming from?"
I kept my eyes on the road.
Didn't answer. Just waited.
Not that I cared who she liked.
It was her life. But I'd seen people like him before.
Too polished. Too curated.
Hiding in plain sight. Unnoticed by most.
"I mean..." She hesitated, brushing a hand through her hair.
"If you must know… I guess there's something there."
I nearly slammed the brakes.
"Since when? Why didn't you tell me?"
The signs had been there, sure, late nights at school, the messages, the looks. But hearing it from her made it real. And worse, it made me feel useless. Like I'd missed the one thing I was supposed to see.
She laughed.
Loud and a little too smug.
"You're too easy," she said, flipping her hair.
"Eitan of the Hale Legacy? Please. That guy's never said a sentence that didn't sound pre-approved by a family lawyer."
She said it like a joke, but I caught the way her voice thinned at the end.
"He asked me to dinner once," she continued, mocking his velvet tone. "Lyra, would you care to accompany me to a neutral location for meaningful dialogue?"
Then she rolled her eyes. "Like, what is he? A boy or a press release?"
But I didn't laugh.
"Guys like that don't ask unless they think they already know the answer."
My grip tightened on the wheel.
She shot me a look. "Says the guy who thinks being my chauffeur means he gets to pry into my love life."
I winced, just slightly.
Maybe I was pushing.
But she didn't get it.
She hadn't seen the truth, seen what I had.
"I'm just saying," I muttered, quieter now, "some people don't let you see the truth until it's too late."
She didn't reply to that.
I took the corner too fast. Distracted.
There was a girl in the road.
I slammed the brakes. The car lurched forward, tires shrieking. My chest hit the seatbelt.
Lyra shouted something, but I didn't hear it.
There, just ahead, a small figure.
A flash of movement. A coat.
A camera swinging from a strap.
But when the car stopped, there was nothing.
No sound. No impact. No one.
Just empty road stretching ahead.
"What the hell happened?" Lyra shouted, lightly slapping the back of my head.
My hands stayed locked on the wheel.
"Did you see her?"
"See who?"
I didn't answer.
My foot hovered over the brake.
There was no blood. No crash. Just the thrum of the engine and Lyra's breathing.
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe I didn't.
But I knew that coat.
That swing of the strap.
The camera swung like that on our first date as we just walked around for hours. Sun was setting and we had ended up on the bench in the Meadow.
Her knee bumped mine, and she laughed when I flinched.
"You're seriously doing the stretch?" she had teased, when I raised my arm to put over her shoulder. But she leaned in.
I remember thinking that nothing could ever happen to her.
I was an idiot.
She was strong. Smarter than me, braver than most.
But that didn't mean the world would go easy on her.
My phone buzzed. A message. Anya's face came up on the notification.
I couldn't check it. Not while driving.
Not with Lyra here.
That's what I told myself.
But my hands gripped the wheel like letting go might break me.
—
Even this far out, Halden was immaculate.
No slums. No trash. Not even a cracked pavement stone.
Just spotless streets and glass façades polished to a shine, like the whole city was daring you to find a flaw.
Above, the drones drifted, silent, constant. Guardians that never blinked.
You couldn't tell if you felt safe… or watched.
As we turned off the highway, the skyline shifted, and there it was, in the sky.
The Citadel of Mirrors.
Even now, though it had been there since before I was born, it still made my chest tighten.
A shard of obsidian stabbed down from the clouds like the world cracked open.
That's where she'd be.
If she was Marked.
If she'd already been.
I used to think the Gate was some divine threshold. Now it just looked like a wound we'd paved over.
Tourists posed in front of it.
Often saw people propose there.
Lyra didn't say anything. Why would she?
This was just another normal day in Halden.
There were Citadels all over the world now.
Another one had cracked open near the southern coast a few weeks ago.
The first confirmed in years. That made seven total now.
Everyone was saying it would be the last.
Right.
Because the world stopped at seven.
But there was something about that number that felt… final.
Some survivors came back.
People were already saying they weren't right.
But Dad said they always say that.
Lyra tapped the back of my head again, snapping me out of it.
"Ow. What did I do to deserve that?"
"We passed the school."
…Oh.
—
We walked the rest of the way.
"You okay?" Lyra asked.
"Yeah. Just tired."
She gave me a sideways look. "Right. Just… we've got a long year ahead. Don't vanish on me, okay?"
I didn't answer.
As we reached the gates, my mind wandered.
Anya.
She sent something in the car.
Meet me at the meadow after school. Please.
Was it a confession? A warning? A goodbye? I didn't know.
But it didn't feel like something you sent to someone you planned to see again.