When the mirror hit the floor, I half-hoped to see it shatter into a thousand pieces, but of course, it didn’t even crack. The damn thing lay there, its silver frame glinting mockingly in the dim light, as if daring me to try again.
I stormed across the room in long, angry strides, scooping the mirror off the ground. My reflection stared back at me, my face twisted with anger, exhaustion, frustration, and the weight of a battle I’d been fighting for far too long.
“You think this is a game?” I hissed at the mirror. “You think I don’t know how this ends? You think I won’t burn this entire estate to the ground if it means ridding myself of him?”
The mirror offered no reply.
I stood there for a long moment, breathing heavily, my knuckles white from gripping the mirror so tight. The shimmering violet flames lining the walls danced in rhythm with my frustration, casting jagged shadows that moved like living things.
Finally, I let out a sharp exhale and lowered the mirror. My shoulders sagged slightly, the tension in my chest refusing to ease. I hated this. Hated the helplessness. The constant, gnawing sense of failure.
Most of all, I hated him.
Even in death, my father had found a way to win. And until I could destroy whatever bound his soul to this world, he would remain an ever-present specter, a reminder of everything I despised about my lineage.
I set the mirror down on the altar at the center of the room, its surface catching the crimson glow of the sigils carved into the stone. “You’ll tell me eventually,” I muttered with a mix of defiance and desperation. “One way or another.”
The room offered no solace, and its silence was too heavy and oppressive. As I turned to leave, my father’s presence seemed to follow me, a constant shadow at my back. For now, the battle was his. But Iwouldfind the object. Iwoulddestroy it. And when I did, his reign of torment would end once and for all.
2
VIVIAN
The elevator doors slid open with a quiet chime, and I stepped out onto the sixth floor of our building, juggling two grocery bags. For once, the elevator had actually worked without groaning to a halt between floors—an unexpected blessing in this creaky, temperamental old place. Vincenzo had insisted on setting us up in a nicer building, but the frugal and money-savvy side of me refused to spend that much on rent, even if I wasn’t the one paying for it. I adjusted my grip on the bags and made my way down the hallway toward our apartment, the hum of fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly in the background.
Our cozy apartment wasn’t much, but it was home. Vincenzo’s generosity—or his mandate, depending on how you looked at it—had landed us here. While “setting us up” had been more of an order than a favor, I wasn’t about to complain. The place had everything we needed: natural light that softened the city’s harshness, walls thick enough to muffle the noise of neighbors and traffic, and most importantly, an extra room I’d claimed as my personal sanctuary—a tech haven where I could lose myself in the endless, maddening pursuit of something groundbreaking.
I shifted the bags to one arm, wedging the groceries between my hip and the doorframe as I fumbled with the keys. “Home sweet home,” I muttered, pushing the door open with my foot and stepping inside.
The scent of vanilla and sandalwood greeted me immediately. It was Will’s thing. He insisted on lighting those overpriced candles everywhere, and I had to admit they did a decent job of making the place feel less like a relic from the seventies. I set the groceries down on the counter, my muscles aching slightly, and let out a long breath. Sunlight streamed through the living room windows, painting the mismatched furniture in warm golds and yellows.
I started unpacking the bags, lining up fresh produce, eggs, and Will’s favorite neon-blue soda on the counter. My thoughts drifted to the project I was working as my hands moved on autopilot. I spent every moment, every spare second of my time, consumed with that single idea.
The weeks I’d spent in The Below had reignited the fire that had been snuffed out by years of survival. Living in Vincenzo’s world, surrounded by magic and technology that coexisted but never truly intertwined, had made me question everything. Why did the two worlds remain so separate? Why couldn’t they work together seamlessly? The barriers seemed arbitrary, archaic even. What if there was a way to bridge the gap?
The idea had taken root like a stubborn weed. A program or system that could translate magical energy into digital signals and vice versa. A way to let human technology and magical constructs communicate as if they spoke the same language. It sounded impossible, but so did a lot of things I’d seen lately.
I paused mid-motion, staring blankly at the carton of eggs. Itwasimpossible—at least, it felt that way most days. The frustrating part wasn’t the lack of technical knowledge. No, I had the coding, the engineering, and the system’s architecture downto a science. The problem was magic itself. It didn’t behave the way logic dictated. It was slippery, chaotic, almost sentient in the way it resisted being quantified or categorized.
Still, I’d been chipping away at it, using every resource I could get my hands on. Vincenzo had humored me when I asked to borrow some of his ancient tomes filled with spells, runes, and magical theories I barely understood. But those texts could only take me so far. Without someone to guide me through the nuances of magic, I was working blind, grasping at threads and trying to weave them into something tangible.
After putting the eggs in the fridge, I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed. I had yet to make any real breakthroughs, but I was starting to see how the pieces might fit together. In theory, at least. A shaky, maddeningly vague theory that felt just out of reach.
The soft creak of a door opening yanked me out of my thoughts. My shoulders stiffened, and I turned to see Will shuffling out of his room, his dark curls a mess and his hoodie hanging off one shoulder. He yawned and rubbed his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe.
“You’re back,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “You get my soda?”
Rolling my eyes, I gestured at the neon-blue soda on the counter. “You’re welcome.”
Will gave me a lazy grin and shuffled over to grab the bottle. “You’re the best, Viv,” he said around another yawn as he twisted the cap off. He took a long swig, then leaned against the counter and studied me. “You look tired.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “Really boosting my self-esteem here.”
He shrugged. “Just saying. You’ve been holed up in your office for days. You should take a break.”
I snorted. “Says the guy who spent the entire morning in bed.”
“Hey, I’m preserving my youthful energy. You, on the other hand, look like you’re about to collapse. What are you even working on?”
