The coffee shop James chose was quaint — not the usual place they met, but tucked near the old museum district. Wooden chairs. Amber lighting. The scent of roasted beans and cardamom in the air.
Sophie arrived before him.
Her hands were already shaking when she walked through the door, though she wasn't sure if it was from the memories of the house or the unanswered questions still pressing on her chest.
She had told herself she wouldn't confront him.
But she couldn't keep pretending, either.
The mirror had started it.
Now it wouldn't stop.
---
James walked in ten minutes later — calm, composed, that same ageless softness behind his eyes. He spotted her instantly and walked to the table with a faint smile.
"Sophie."
She gave a small nod.
He ordered tea. Black, no sugar. She ordered a mint latte but barely touched it.
They talked briefly about her health. The weather. Books.
It was thin, polite — like a veil over something darker.
And then, Sophie leaned forward.
"There's something I have to ask."
James tilted his head slightly, his gaze still gentle. "Alright."
She held her breath.
"The other morning... I heard a phone ringing. It was so loud. It sounded like it was coming from inside your house, but I couldn't find where. You said you didn't hear it — but I know what I felt."
James was quiet.
"And the library," she went on. "The message about Elena. You didn't explain what happened to her. You just said she was your beginning. What does that even mean?"
He looked down at his tea.
Then back up.
"I think," he said softly, "that you've been through a lot lately. You're tired. It's natural to reach for mystery when pain feels too sharp."
"You think I imagined all of it?"
"I think grief has many forms."
His voice was calm. Too calm.
And that made her angry.
"I'm not grieving yet," she said quietly. "Not until I know what you are."
That made him freeze — just for a breath.
But he quickly recovered.
"I'm just someone who cares for you, Sophie."
Before she could reply, someone walked by their table — a server, balancing a tall, ornate mirror for wall decoration.
Sophie looked up…
…and everything stopped.
In the mirror's reflection, she saw herself. The table. The mugs.
But James wasn't there.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She blinked.
Looked at James.
Then the mirror.
Still — nothing.
No shadow. No outline. No trace of him at all.
He sat directly across from her, very much present…
…but the mirror told a different story.
---
She stood up so fast, her chair scraped the floor.
James rose too. "Sophie—"
"I have to go."
"Let me explain—"
"No."
She grabbed her bag and pushed past him, nearly knocking into the server.
And ran.
---
The sky was already turning the color of ash.
Sophie ran down the street, tears pricking her eyes. Her breath came in gasps.
What had she just seen?
How could someone exist without reflection?
He's not human.
She didn't want it to be true.
She didn't want the soft voice, the warm tea, the late-night laughter to all be lies.
But the mirror didn't lie.
The mirror showed the truth.
She turned a corner, heading into a quieter street.
That's when she heard it—
Tires screeching.
Footsteps behind her.
She turned.
Two men. Then a third.
One of them reached forward.
She tried to scream.
A cloth over her mouth.
Then—
Darkness.
---
When Sophie woke up, her mouth was dry.
Her head pounded.
She was tied to a wooden chair in a dim, crumbling room — the kind where dust hung in the air like fog. Light trickled in through shattered slats in the walls. There was no sign of where she was.
Her heart thudded wildly.
The ropes bit into her wrists.
Three men stood nearby — laughing quietly. One lit a cigarette.
They weren't masked.
That made it worse.
"Let me go," she rasped.
No one answered.
One walked toward her. Grinning.
He reached down and ripped the upper part of her sleeve.
Sophie flinched.
Tears burned her throat.
The other man leaned closer. "So soft," he said.
His hand hovered near her chest.
Sophie screamed.
"No one's coming for you," one of them muttered.
And then—
CRASH.
The door exploded inward.
---
The figure in the doorway was more shadow than man.
Seven feet tall.
Limbs too long.
Nails sharp and black as obsidian.
Eyes like burning coals.
The kidnappers froze.
The creature didn't.
It moved in a blur — one man slammed into the wall before he could breathe. Another screamed as the creature grabbed him by the throat and flung him across the room.
The last tried to run.
He didn't make it.
Blood splattered.
Dust rose.
Sophie stared in wide-eyed horror.
The figure turned to her.
Its eyes glowed brighter.
Then it stepped toward her, reaching for her ropes—
And everything went black again.
---