Days had passed since the confrontation in the basement, yet the house refused to feel like home. The mirrors no longer whispered openly, but Emma could feel faint movements at the edge of her vision — a shadow flickering just behind her in reflections, a faint ripple in the glass when no one was near.
Luke was quiet, more withdrawn than before. Each time Emma tried to speak of the fire or the entity, he would deflect with a joke or a soft "It's over. Don't worry." But Emma knew better. He still carried pieces of it inside him — a darkness he wouldn't speak of, a secret he couldn't share.
One evening, as the sun sank beneath the horizon and the house bathed in a dim orange glow, Emma entered the attic — a place they had avoided since the fire. Dust hung thick in the air, and the faint smell of smoke lingered as if the flames had never truly left.
A single mirror leaned against the wall, covered in a tattered sheet. Emma's hand trembled as she lifted it. The reflection was perfect — or so it seemed — until she noticed the faint smirk that didn't belong to her.
A whisper, barely audible, curled around her ear:
"You survived… but the fire remembers."
Emma spun around, heart pounding, and saw nothing.
Luke's voice came from the doorway. "Emma… you shouldn't be here."
"I have to see," she said, voice steady despite her fear. "I need to know if it's gone."
He stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Some things never truly leave. Not here… not in us."
The mirror shimmered faintly, and for a brief second, Emma thought she saw another version of herself — smiling, reaching out, whispering:
"Join me…"
Emma turned to Luke, gripping his hand. "We face it together, right?"
"Together," he echoed, but his eyes flicked to the shadow in the corner. Something had returned. And this time, it was waiting for more than just fear.