The hallway curves ahead, and there’s only one door that matters—the one with silver mist seeping underneath like smoke from a fire.
Rhett reaches it first, doesn’t bother knocking. The door slams open under his hand.
And we freeze.
Bree’s on the floor beside her bed, knees drawn to her chest, whole body shaking like she’s been struck by lightning. The mist isn’t just leaking—it’s pouring off her in waves, thick enough to taste metal on my tongue.
But it’s her eyes that stop my heart.
Wide. Terrified. And completely, utterly vacant.
Like she’s seeing something none of us can see. Something that’s tearing her apart from the inside.
Chapter 4
Bree
I jolt awake gasping. But I’m not in my bed.
I’m standing in the chamber of mirrors, bare feet cold against stone that’s littered with ash. Gray dust swirls around my ankles with every shaky breath, and the air tastes metallic and old—like it remembers choices that turned to ruin.
This isn’t right. The chamber was whole when I was here before. Ancient but intact.
Now the mirrors that line the walls are shattered, jagged edges reflecting nothing but broken darkness. Ash piles scattered across the floor where something once stood. Where someone once stood. The space feels hollow, gutted, like a place where hope came to die.
My heart hammers against my ribs. How did I get here? I was sleeping—Stellan’s arm around me, his presence finally quieting the visions. I was safe.
I turn in a slow circle, trying to make sense of the destruction, and that’s when I notice it.
One mirror remains intact.
It stands directly across from me, tall and elegant, its silver surface gleaming despite the ruin around it. And in that glass, I see myself—but not the me that’s here, barefoot in ash and wearing a wrinkled sleep shirt.
This reflection stands in what looks like the same chamber, but whole. Beautiful. Light pools around her feet instead of dust, and the surfaces behind her glow with soft, ethereal radiance. She looks poised, confident, every gesture flowing with a grace I’ve never possessed.
She looks like a queen.
And she’s looking right at me.
My reflection shouldn’t be able to do that. Shouldn’t be able to tilt her head and smile like she’s been waiting. Like she knows something I don’t.
I take a step toward the mirror, drawn by something I can’t name. The ash crunches under my feet, but in the reflection, she moves across smooth stone that seems to shimmer with its own light.
When I’m close enough to touch the glass, I stop.
She raises her hand, pressing her palm against the surface from her side. Waiting.
I should walk away. Should find a way back to my bed, back to safety. But something in her expression—in my expression—makes me lift my own hand.
The moment my palm meets the glass, the world tilts.
Light explodes across my vision, silver and warm and impossibly bright. The sensation of falling—or flying—and then everything settles into a new kind of stillness.
I’m still in the chamber of mirrors, but everything has changed.
The air feels different here—lighter, charged with possibility instead of loss. The mirrors around me pulse with gentle radiance, their surfaces whole and clean. The floor beneath my feet is smoothpale stone that seems to hold its own inner glow, and delicate light drifts through the space like captured starlight.
It’s breathtaking. Sacred. Perfect.
