CHAPTER SIX
May barely sleeps.
When she finally collapses into bed, her mind keeps replaying the same image — the handprint forming on the mirror, the shadow leaning in, watching her with a patience that wasn't human.
By dawn, she's exhausted.
Her pillow is damp with cold sweat.
Her heartbeat still echoes someone else's rhythm.
And her room feels… wrong.
Not haunted.
Not invaded.
More like… observed.
She drags herself up, wraps a shawl around her shoulders, and steps out onto the small balcony overlooking her neighborhood in Accra. Early morning traffic hums in the distance, a goat bleats somewhere, frying oil sizzles from a food seller's stand down the street — normal life, vibrant, loud, Ghanaian.
But inside her chest?
Nothing is normal.
She presses her palm over her heart.
"Please be quiet," she whispers. "Just for today."
For a moment, the echo settles.
Then—
Thump.
Just one.
Like someone knocking from the inside.
Her breath stutters.
"No. Not now."
She turns back inside—
—just in time to see a shadow slip across her doorway.
She freezes.
The room is still.
Empty.
But the shadow was real. She knows what she saw.
Her phone vibrates on the dresser.
She nearly jumps out of her skin.
A message from Zara:
Are you awake?
Something is happening in my house.
May, I'm scared.
May's breath catches.
She types with trembling fingers:
What do you mean? What's wrong?
The reply comes instantly.
The same thing you described yesterday.
My mirror.
Someone touched it from the inside.
May's stomach drops.
It's not just her.
The bond isn't just waking —
it's spreading.
Before she can reply, the air in her room thickens.
A pressure builds behind her, like a presence stepping closer.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Watching her reaction.
"Nathel?" she whispers.
The lights flicker.
Her heart slams in her chest — once, twice, then locks into that same carved rhythm she felt last night.
An answer.
She grips the edge of the dresser to stay upright.
"Nathel… if that's you… you can't come here."
Her voice cracks.
"You can't."
The air responds with a cold sweep across her spine, gentle but undeniable — like fingers brushing her skin.
She chokes back a gasp.
This isn't memory.
This isn't imagination.
He is here.
Not fully.
Not physically.
But his consciousness, his presence, the force of the destiny-bond—
is awake.
She steps toward the mirror, terrified and drawn at the same time.
Her voice is barely a breath.
"Why now? Why are you coming back now?"
The glass ripples.
Not violently.
Like a calm lake disturbed by a single drop.
And across the surface, words begin to form.
Slow.
Scratched.
As if written by invisible fingertips dragging across water.
I never left.
May's knees nearly buckle.
"Nathel…"
Her throat tightens.
"You broke the bond… you disappeared. I felt you vanish."
The mirror darkens — a shadow swelling behind the glass like storm clouds forming too fast.
Another message carves itself across the surface.
Something forced me away.
Not you.
Not us.
Her skin prickles.
"What was it?"
The mirror hesitates.
Then:
It's waking again.
And it knows you're no longer protected.
May's blood turns ice-cold.
Zara.
Her mirror.
The shadow watching from the corners of the house.
Whatever was sleeping —
whatever Nathel fought —
whatever erased him from her life—
is coming back.
She swallows hard, voice barely stable.
"Nathel… what do I do?"
The mirror distorts — his silhouette pushing closer, as if he's trying to force through, trying to reach her, trying to warn her—
Then the room's temperature drops so violently she shivers.
And the mirror bleeds one final message before the glass freezes over with a thin sheet of frost:
Don't be alone tonight.
It's almost here.
May stumbles back.
Her phone vibrates again.
Zara:
May… something is knocking on my mirror. I'm not joking. Please pick up.
The echo in May's chest slams once more, urgent this time.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Warning.
Calling.
Counting down.