---
Kayden didn't sleep that night.
He tried — headphones on, music blasting, eyes closed — but every time he began to drift, the faint buzz in his head came crawling back. Not sound exactly. More like the thought of sound. The feeling that silence wasn't really silent anymore.
By 3 A.M., he gave up.
The city outside was dead quiet, save for the hum of a distant train and the hiss of wet tires against asphalt. He sat by the window, knees pulled up, a half-eaten sandwich on the sill.
The mirror stood across the room, draped in a blanket now. He'd done that after the whisper. Out of sight, out of mind — except it wasn't. He could feel it under there, like a heartbeat he couldn't unhear.
His eyes burned. His thoughts looped.
Then, mercifully, exhaustion finally dragged him under.
---
He dreamed again.
Not the grey field this time — this place was darker. The kind of dark that didn't feel like the absence of light, but the presence of something else. Shapes moved at the edge of sight, flickering like they couldn't decide if they existed.
A voice — faint, layered — spoke through static.
> "You heard the name."
Kayden turned, searching the void. "Who are you?"
> "The same thing you are. Half-awake."
He frowned. "Meaning?"
> "Meaning you've started listening."
The static swelled, and the voice grew sharp.
> "But be careful what you hear. Not every echo tells the truth."
Then the world shattered like glass, and Kayden woke up gasping.
The blanket had fallen off the mirror.
And in the reflection — just for a heartbeat — he thought he saw someone standing behind him.
---
Across the city, miles away, a woman stood on a rooftop, cigarette burning between her fingers. The rain had stopped, leaving the air sharp and metallic.
Her name was Seren Vale.
She wore a dark coat, her posture casual, though her eyes were anything but. A faint blue glow traced under her skin — lines like circuitry, pulsing softly with each heartbeat.
The device in her ear crackled.
> "Target anomaly detected, sector seventeen. Cognitive pulse pattern matches type-O static signature."
Seren exhaled a stream of smoke and replied, "Observer class?"
> "Unconfirmed. Could be an echo-bearer."
"Echo-bearer?" she repeated, lips curving into a smirk. "That's above my pay grade."
> "Still your problem."
The connection cut.
Seren flicked her cigarette into the void below, eyes narrowing toward the faint glow of apartment windows in the distance.
She'd been chasing these anomalies for years — things that broke the pattern, made people vanish, twisted their memories.
And she knew the signs. The static signature, the warped air, the unease that crawled under the skin before something snapped.
But this one… this one felt different.
There was a name attached to it.
A name she'd only seen once before — years ago, sealed in a classified report.
> Observer.
She adjusted her coat and began walking. "Guess I'll see what the universe spat out this time."
---
Morning came with a pale sun and Kayden's alarm screaming like it had a grudge.
He slapped it off and groaned. His head throbbed, and every shadow in the room looked slightly… off. He didn't want to look at the mirror, but curiosity was a disease he'd never managed to cure.
The mirror looked normal again. No cracks, no voices, no creepy reflections. Just him — messy hair, tired eyes, and the faint feeling of having aged a decade overnight.
He checked the time. Late. Again.
Rent was due, food was running out, and he had no job. Haunted mirror or not, life went on.
He grabbed his jacket and stepped out into the hallway. The air smelled of damp paint and cheap disinfectant. His neighbor — Mrs. Kaur, an old lady with sharp eyes — peeked out from her door.
"Kayden beta, you look like you fought a ghost."
He forced a smile. "Something like that."
She frowned. "You should burn some sage. Cleanses bad energy."
"Yeah, I'll add it to my grocery list — right between 'rent money' and 'sanity.'"
She shook her head, muttering prayers as he walked away.
---
By the time he reached the café down the street, the city had started to stir. People rushed past, screens in hand, eyes glazed — the living proof that modern society was one long distraction.
He ordered a coffee and sat near the window.
It should've been peaceful. But every reflection — in the glass, the spoons, the metal counter — felt like it lingered half a second too long when he moved.
He rubbed his temple. "I'm seriously losing it."
Then, a voice behind him: "Maybe not."
He turned.
A woman in a long black coat was standing there, holding a takeaway cup. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Her eyes were sharp — too sharp, like they'd been trained to dissect lies.
"You're Kayden, right?" she asked casually.
He blinked. "Do I owe you money?"
"Not yet."
She sat down uninvited, her tone calm but firm. "I'm Seren Vale. I work with a group that investigates certain… irregularities."
He frowned. "Like haunted furniture?"
"More like things that shouldn't exist but do anyway."
Kayden stared at her. "You've been reading my search history."
She smiled faintly. "Your mirror hums, doesn't it?"
He froze.
Seren sipped her coffee. "Good. Then we're on the same page."
Kayden leaned back slowly. "Okay, I'm listening. But if you start talking about exorcisms or cosmic destiny, I'm leaving."
"Relax," she said. "I'm not here to recruit you. I'm here to warn you."
"About what?"
She met his eyes. The faint blue glow under her skin pulsed once.
"About what happens when the mirror stops watching."
---
To be continued…