Chapter 1 New Life

Marcus had always believed that change was a good thing. A new city, a new job, and now-a new house. After the chaos of the past year, it was supposed to be a fresh start. The two-story home nestled at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac seemed like the perfect escape: a modest structure with ivy creeping up its stone walls, windows that gleamed like watchful eyes, and a silence that promised solitude. Too much had gone wrong in his life lately, and he needed this-a place to disappear, to rebuild, and to breathe.

The move was boring. A moving truck, a couple of disinterested workers, and boxes stacked like tombstones in every room. He spent most of that first day in a daze, wandering through each space and trying to imagine what it might feel like to actually live there. Most of the rooms were bare, coated in a thin film of dust and shadow. He'd noticed the house had a strange stillness to it-not quiet in the comforting sense, but quiet like an abandoned church or a long-forgotten tomb.

By evening, exhaustion had settled into his bones, and he decided to explore the last room he hadn't yet opened-the one at the end of the hall on the second floor. The doorknob felt cold in his hand, colder than it should have been. As he turned it and pushed the door open, the hinges groaned as if protesting the intrusion.

It was a small room. Bare walls, wooden floorboards warped with age, and one tall, narrow window that let in the dying light of the day. But what caught his attention immediately was the mirror. It stood against the far wall, taller than him and framed in dark, ornate wood, the kind of craftsmanship that spoke of a different time. Dust clung to its surface, yet even through the grime, it gleamed faintly-like it had been waiting for someone.

Marcus stepped closer, frowning. He didn't remember the mirror being listed in the house's inventory. It looked like it had been there for decades. Without thinking, he reached out and wiped part of the surface clean with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. His reflection emerged slowly, like a photograph developing in reverse.

And that's when it happened.

He saw himself-or at least, he thought he did. But the face staring back at him wasn't quite right. The same eyes, the same structure, the same tousled dark hair, but the expression was... wrong. Deeply wrong. His reflection looked hollow, as if sadness had carved out something essential inside him. There was something broken behind the eyes-something quietly screaming. And then there was the anger, smoldering just beneath the surface. It twisted the corners of his mouth downward, furrowed his brow in a way Marcus didn't recognize.