The drive to the doctor was quiet.
Mia kept one hand on the wheel, the other was gently caressing Alex's thigh. The radio played low, some old song neither of them knew the words to. Every few miles the signal would fuzz slightly, static cutting in for a heartbeat, then clear again. Alex glanced at the dash, but Mia didn't seem to notice.
''You nervous?'' she asked.
''A little. But I could have driven myself.''
She squeezed his knee.
''Don't worry about small things.''
He nodded, looking out the window at the passing trees. The leaves seemed to shiver even though there was no wind.
The waiting room smelled like old magazines and lemon cleaner.
Alex sat with his hands between his knees, staring at the carpet. The pattern was gray with small blue diamonds. He counted them until the numbers blurred.
Mia sat beside him, thumb scrolling slowly through her phone, but he could tell she wasn't really reading.
A door opened. A woman in her mid-forties stepped out. Dark hair pulled back, glasses on a thin chain, calm smile that looked practiced but not fake.
''Alex Thorne?''
He stood. Mia stood too, then hesitated.
''You can come in with him if you'd like,'' the doctor said, glancing between them. ''Or wait here. Whatever feels right.''
Mia looked at Alex.
He gave a small nod. ''It's okay. I've got this.''
She squeezed his hand once, then let go.
He followed the doctor down a short hallway.
The office was small but bright. Two chairs facing a desk. A window with half-open blinds. A single plant on the sill that looked like it was trying its best. No couch. No clock ticking loudly. Just quiet.
''I'm Dr. Ellison,'' she said while sitting down. ''Please.''
Alex sat. The chair creaked once under him.
She opened a notebook, pen already in hand, but she didn't start writing yet.
''I've read the intake form Mia filled out,'' she said. ''But I'd like to hear it from you. In your own words. Whatever you're comfortable sharing.''
He looked at his hands. They were steady.
He started with the cave.
He kept it factual at first. The squeeze through the fissure. The chamber. The bat. The blackout. The red glow. The altar. The book. The way his body moved without permission. Waking outside.
He stopped there.
Dr. Ellison waited.
Then, quietly: ''And since then?''
He exhaled.
''Whispers,'' he said. ''Not words. Just… breath. In my head. Sometimes louder, sometimes soft. They're always there now, even when I don't notice them.''
She nodded once, pen moving briefly.
''Anything else?''
He thought about the radio. The lights flickering. The way the room felt too bright at his parents' table until it wasn't.
He thought about how good the darkness had felt for that one second.
''I get… angry sometimes,'' he said. ''More than I used to. It's sudden. Like something pushes me.''
Another nod.
''Any physical sensations? Headaches, dizziness, changes in vision?''
He shook his head.
''Sleep?''
''Not great. Nightmares. Waking up shouting.''
She made a small note.
''And how do the whispers make you feel?''
He looked at her.
''Scared,'' he said. ''Mostly.''
She waited.
He swallowed.
''Sometimes… not.''
The pen paused.
''Not scared,'' she repeated gently.
He nodded once.
She leaned back slightly.
''Thank you for telling me that.''
Silence for a moment.
Then she set the pen down.
''What you're describing could be several things,'' she said. ''The sudden onset after a traumatic experience points toward an acute stress reaction, possibly with dissociative features. The whispers and the sense of something external could be auditory hallucinations tied to anxiety or trauma. The anger, the feeling that the darkness was… comforting… that can happen when the mind tries to reclaim control after a loss of agency. It's not uncommon.''
Alex exhaled slowly.
''So I'm not… losing my mind?''
''No, of course not,'' she said. ''What you are experiencing is very real, and it's treatable. We're going to start with a low-dose SSRI to help with the anxiety and intrusive thoughts. We'll also schedule weekly sessions to talk through the cave experience and any triggers. If things don't improve in a few weeks, we'll reassess.''
He nodded.
She wrote a prescription, tore it off the pad, handed it to him.
''Start with half the dose for the first three days. Then full. Call if anything feels off.''
He took the paper.
She stood.
''You did well coming in today,'' she said. ''That's not small.''
He stood too.
''Thanks.''
She walked him back to the waiting room.
Mia looked up immediately. Her face searched his.
Alex gave a small smile, real this time, small but real.
''All good,'' he said.
Mia exhaled like she'd been holding her breath since he left.
In the car, windows down, she turned the radio to a soft station. Sunlight moved over her hair.
She reached over and laced her fingers with his.
He squeezed back.
For the first time in weeks, the inside of his head stayed quiet.
No whispers. No flicker at the edge of his vision.
Just the road and the music and Mia singing off-key to a song she only half knew.
He leaned his head against the window and let himself believe, just for a minute, that it was over.
That night he took the half-dose pill with water.
Mia kissed him goodnight and curled into his side.
He fell asleep quickly.
No dreams. No breathing at the back of his skull.
When he woke the next morning the sunlight felt kinder.
Mia was already up, humming in the kitchen.
He smiled into the pillow. Maybe this was it.
Maybe it really was just stress.
He got up, stretched, walked to the bathroom.
He turned on the light.
His reflection looked back at him.
Normal.
Except the eyes.
They were still looking at him even after he turned his head away.
He blinked.
They blinked half a second later.
He stared.
The reflection smiled.
But he hadn't.
Alex stepped back.
The light flickered once. Then steadied.
He exhaled.
''It's fine,'' he whispered to the empty bathroom.
''It's just the meds adjusting. I'm still at half the dose.''
He almost believed it.
Almost.
Alex dragged a hand down his face and forced himself to move. Standing there wasn't helping. Staring wasn't helping. People on new medication noticed things, that was normal. His brain was probably just catching up with itself.
He turned off the faucet. The pipes gave a dull knock inside the wall.
When he looked back at the mirror, the reflection was perfectly in sync again. Same posture. Same expression. Just a tired man standing in harsh morning light.
See?
Nothing.
He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
From the kitchen, Mia's voice drifted down the hall.
''Coffee's getting cold!''
''Coming,'' he called back.
He reached for the switch and clicked the bathroom light off.
For a split second, as the bulb died, the mirror went dark before the rest of the room did, not by much, just a fraction, but enough that something inside his chest tightened.
Then it was over.
Just shadow.
He stepped into the hallway, the softer daylight immediately easing the pressure behind his eyes. The apartment smelled faintly of toast and coffee. Normal morning sounds. Cabinets opening. A spoon against ceramic.
Grounding. He welcomed it.
Behind him, the bathroom sat quiet with the door half open, pale light from the window slipping across the sink.
The mirror held that light.
Held it…
And did not give it back quite the same.
For a moment, a moment no one witnessed, the reflection inside the glass did not follow him out.
It stood where he had been.
Watching the empty doorway.
Still smiling.
Not mocking kind of smile.
Just… content.
As if it knew something he didn't.
Alex paused halfway down the hall.
A strange sensation brushed the back of his neck. Not quite a touch. Not quite a thought.
The faintest awareness of being observed.
He almost turned around.
Almost.
Then Mia laughed softly at something in the kitchen, and the sound broke the feeling apart before it could settle.
He kept walking.
When he glanced back a second later, the bathroom was only a dim rectangle at the end of the hall.
Empty and ordinary.
He told himself, not for the first time, that the hardest part of fear was how quickly it could make you feel ridiculous.
By the time he reached the kitchen, his pulse had steadied.
Mia slid a mug toward him.
''You look better,'' she said, studying his face briefly. ''Did you sleep at all in there?''
''Something like that.''
He wrapped his hands around the warmth.
Sunlight spilled across the table.
The world, stubbornly, continued as if nothing had changed.
And yet, far down the hallway, the bathroom mirror reflected an empty room…
…with the faint impression of a smile that took just a little too long to fade.