Elara Wolfe woke to a silence that pressed against her ears, heavy and suffocating. The faint hum of the city outside her window, the occasional hiss of the radiator, even the distant echo of a car door slamming on the street below all of it felt muted, as though she were submerged beneath a thick layer of fog. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the fragments of a dream she couldn't quite remember.
There had been screaming. A man's voice. A woman's. A red fog curling like smoke around their bodies, licking their limbs, staining the air. She shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders, wishing it were only a nightmare. But something in her gut told her it wasn't.The taste of iron lingered in her mouth, sharp and metallic. Her hands shook as she reached for the bedside lamp, the light cutting through the darkness but revealing nothing no blood, no signs of struggle. Only her reflection in the window, pale and wide-eyed, staring back at her like a stranger.Elara sat up slowly, every movement deliberate, cautious. She tried to recall the dream no, the vision. It had felt too real. Her heart pounded at the memory of the alley, the fog, the figure standing at the end of the street, watching. And then the scream a high, piercing sound that made her bones ache even now.A sudden knock at her apartment door made her start, a spike of panic driving her chest into a frantic rhythm. She wasn't expecting anyone. The city was quiet. Too quiet. Her hand hovered over the doorknob, hesitant, trembling. The knock came again firmer this time."Elara Wolfe?" A deep, calm voice called.
Her stomach knotted. The voice was familiar. Too familiar. She swallowed hard and edged toward the peephole. There he was. Dorian Beck, tall, impeccably dressed, the kind of man whose presence demanded attention without trying. Sharp eyes, dark hair falling just so over his forehead, a calm intensity that made her pulse quicken despite the terror coiling in her chest."Elara," he said softly, once she opened the door, "we need to talk."She wanted to ask why. Wanted to demand answers. But no words came. Only a tremor that ran from her shoulders to her fingertips. Dorian's gaze held her still, anchored her against the storm inside her head.
"You've seen it again," he said. "The visions."
Elara's hands went to her face, pressing against her temples. "I… I don't know what's real anymore," she whispered. "I think… I think I'm losing my mind."He reached for her arm, gentle, steadying. "You're not losing your mind. Something else is happening. Something… dangerous."
Her throat tightened. "I saw… blood. A woman. Red fog. And someone… someone following her."Dorian's eyes darkened, just for a moment, before he spoke again. "It's not a dream, Elara. And it's not just a vision. Someone is manipulating your mind. Or… someone is using your mind for their own purpose."
Elara's heart thumped violently. "I don't understand."
"You will," he said quietly. "But you need to come with me now. There's no time to waste."
Before she could protest, before she could argue, he had taken her hand, firm but not forceful, guiding her down the narrow hallway to the elevator. The air in the building felt colder than it should have, and the shadows in the corners seemed to stretch toward her, as though reaching. She glanced over her shoulder at the door she had just left open, but the darkness there offered no comfort. Only questions. Only fear.The drive was silent, except for the hum of the car engine and the distant wail of a siren somewhere far off. Elara stared out the window at the city lights, blurred and stretching, and tried to make sense of the racing thoughts in her head. She had been having these episodes for weeks the visions, the blackouts, the sudden bruises, the missing hours. At first, she had convinced herself they were hallucinations. Stress. Lack of sleep. But this tonight was different. Tonight, she had felt it in her bones. Someone was watching. Someone was orchestrating things she didn't understand.Dorian glanced at her, a faint furrow between his brows. "You're not in danger from what you've seen," he said. "You're in danger from what's going to happen next. And from who's already here."Elara's breath caught. "Who?"
He shook his head. "I can't tell you yet. Not everything. But you need to trust me. Can you do that?"
Her throat felt dry. Her pulse raced. Yet, despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, she found herself nodding. Somehow, she knew she had no other choice.The car stopped in front of an unassuming building on the outskirts of the city. It was old, brick and mortar with tall, narrow windows, most of them dark. Dorian led her inside, past an empty lobby and up a flight of stairs. The silence was heavy, pressing, broken only by the echo of their footsteps.
He opened a door to a small, sparsely furnished room. A single chair sat in the center, a desk against the wall, and in the corner, a faint silhouette of something covered by a dark cloth."Sit," he said. "And don't look around."
Elara obeyed, heart hammering. She had no idea what awaited her, and for the first time, she felt truly, utterly exposed.Dorian moved to the cloth in the corner and pulled it away slowly. Underneath was a large mirror. At first, it seemed ordinary. But as Elara stepped closer, her breath caught. The reflection staring back at her wasn't just her own. Behind her, a shadow moved fluid, almost imperceptible, but undeniably there. Raven.She froze. Her stomach twisted in knots. "It's her," she whispered.Dorian's expression was unreadable. "She's always been there, Elara. Watching. Protecting. But now… someone else is here, too. And she's not the only fragment of you you need to worry about."The mirror rippled, and for the first time, Elara realized the full scope of what she had become fractured, hunted, and unknowingly dangerous. A single thought consumed her as her reflection split, the shadows around her moving independently: I am not safe inside my own mind.And then the red fog returned, creeping from the edges of the mirror, curling around the room, consuming everything in sight.