Bastien joined her, examining the crack. Too precise to be accidental. Too deliberate in its placement—running straight through the center, dividing the surface into perfect halves.
He felt the presence behind it. Not Gideon directly. But attention. Will. Someone using the mirror network to observe, to listen, to learn.
“He knows you’re here,” Maman said quietly. “Knows you’re learning.”
Bastien met his own eyes in the fractured glass. Two reflections now, slightly offset, watching him from either side of the crack. “Good. Let him watch me come for him.”
But internally, the calculation had already shifted. If Gideon could observe through random mirrors—mirrors in Maman’s shop, mirrors that predated this entire conflict—then the network’s reach was wider than he’d estimated. Nowhere was safe. Not here, not his apartment, not the Archive where Delphine worked.
Maman wrapped the mirror in dark cloth and set it aside. “He knows you found the vault. Knows what you know now. He’ll move faster.”
“So will I.”
The crack widened. Cold light leaked through—winter moonlight on water. The edges frosted over despite the shop’s warmth.
Bastien moved for the door, gathering his sketches and shoving them into his messenger bag. Behind him, Maman spoke words in a language that predated the city, protection layered over protection, blood magic and binding wards.
The wrapped mirror went dark inside its cloth. The cold light faded.
“Go,” Maman said. She crossed the room and unbolted the door, then paused with her hand on the frame. “Protection andprison look the same from inside, mon cœur. Make sure you know which one you’re building.”
Bastien met her eyes. Understood what she meant. What she was warning him against.
“It’ll track you through every glass surface in the Quarter now,” she continued. “Every mirror, every window, every puddle. Watch where you walk.”
“I will.”
She touched his shoulder briefly—the kind of gesture that meant both farewell and blessing. Then she let him go.
Bastien left. Full daylight outside, tourists emerging from hotels, delivery trucks making rounds. Normal morning in the French Quarter.
He checked his phone as he walked. Three missed texts, all from Delphine.
Found something interesting in the estate records. You free for coffee?
Never mind, heading to lunch. Call me later?
Seriously, call me. I think I found a pattern in the Lacroix documentation.
He should call her. Should meet her for coffee and see what she’d discovered. Should follow Maman’s advice and tell her the truth about what was happening.
Should. But first he needed to understand the scope of what they were dealing with.
Every shop window he passed showed him twice. Once moving with him, his actual reflection tracking his steps across the glass. Once lagging half a second behind, watching with eyes that held no recognition at all.
A car window showed him from an angle that didn’t match his position on the street. A puddle reflected him upside-down when he was clearly standing upright. A restaurant’s glass door showed him entering when he’d already passed it by.
The mirrors were responding before he did.
By the time he reached his car, he’d stopped looking at glass surfaces. Safer to navigate blind than see what watched back.
But as he unlocked the door, another thought occurred to him. Observation went both ways. If Gideon could watch through mirrors, could use the network to see what Bastien was doing, learning, planning—then maybe Bastien could use that same network to watch back.
Every mirror Gideon corrupted became a potential window. Not just for surveillance. For communication. For understanding how the network functioned and where its anchor points were.
He needed to move faster. But he also needed to be smarter about how he moved.
He drove toward the Archive. In the rearview mirror, his reflection smiled.
