Elara Wolfe awoke with a start, the familiar metallic tang of iron clinging to her tongue. The apartment was silent, almost unnervingly so, but she knew the fog had returned. It seeped along the edges of the walls like smoke, curling around furniture, pooling in the corners. Shadows danced unnaturally across the floor, distorted, stretching into shapes that whispered of things that had never existed — or things she did not dare acknowledge.
Her reflection in the mirror across the room flickered, and she froze. Not because it moved differently than she expected that she had grown accustomed to but because there was someone else behind her. A silhouette, indistinct yet undeniably alive, lurking in the reflection like it had been waiting.
Raven stirred immediately, a surge of instinctive precision that coursed through her veins, taking control of her body before she could protest. Elara's limbs moved with fluidity she did not command, steps silent, deliberate, calculated. The shadow in the mirror recoiled slightly, as if anticipating her approach.
Then Mira whispered, low and caressing, threading doubt into every thought: You cannot trust her. Not Raven. Not yourself. Not anyone.
Elara staggered backward, caught between two voices within herself the protector who moved her with lethal precision and the manipulator who undermined every perception she held. The shadow in the mirror was no longer passive; it reached out, the edges curling like smoke, and she realized with a terror that froze her blood: the reflection was alive, interacting, anticipating.
She gripped the edge of the dresser, grounding herself, willing herself to hold onto reality, and in the moment, she glimpsed it a clue, subtle but undeniable. A trail of fingerprints smeared on the glass. Evidence. Deliberately left. And she knew, with a clarity that made her chest tighten: someone was framing her. Or framing Raven. Or both.
Outside, the city hummed obliviously. Inside, Elara was trapped in a war she could not yet see the full scope of a battle for control, for perception, for survival.