His mirror self had one hand against her face. Her reflection leaned into the contact. The image held for three seconds before both reflections turned to look directly at where he stood on the steps.
Then the window went dark. Interior light extinguished, leaving only rain-slicked glass reflecting streetlamps.
“Bastien?” Delphine’s voice pulled him back. “You okay?”
“Fine.” He descended the rest of the steps. “Where are you parked?”
“Two blocks over. You?”
“Same direction. I’ll walk you there.”
They moved through the Quarter’s empty streets, rain turning everything reflective. Puddles caught lamplight and held it, surfaces that should have shown sky and buildings showing other things instead—fragments of conversation, echoes of footsteps from hours earlier, shadows that moved independent of the people casting them.
Delphine walked close enough that their shoulders occasionally brushed. Each contact registered—warmth where fabric met fabric, the particular awareness that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with proximity to someone who’d somehow become essential to his equilibrium.
“That thing you said earlier,” she said. “About love making you stupid for centuries.”
“Mmm.”
“Did you mean Charlotte? Or someone else?”
He could lie. Could deflect again, maintain the distance that kept her questions from landing too close to truths he wasn’t ready to expose. But the mirrors had already recorded tonight’s conversation. They knew what he’d admitted. And lying to Delphine while glass surfaces listened felt more dangerous than honesty.
“Charlotte was first,” he said. “There were others. Patterns repeat when you live long enough to make the same mistakes multiple times.”
“Do you think you are making that mistake now?”
They’d reached her car—sensible sedan parked under a streetlight that flickered in rhythm with the network’s pulse.
“I’m trying not to,” he said.
“Trying not to make mistakes? Or trying not to fall in love with someone you’re investigating mirrors with?”
“Both. Neither.” He shook his head. “I’m trying to keep you safe from consequences I created by not stopping Charlotte when I should have. That’s all.”
“That’s not all. But I’ll let you pretend it is.” She unlocked her car. “For now.”
“Delphine—”
“Tomorrow. We’ll talk tomorrow when I’m not exhausted and you’re not looking at me like you’re waiting for me to disappear into a mirror.” She slid into the driver’s seat. “Get some sleep, Bastien. You look like you haven’t done that in a week.”
“Closer to two.” But he smiled. “Drive safe.”
“You too.”
He watched her pull away, taillights reflecting in rain-slicked asphalt. Her car turned the corner and disappeared, leaving him alone on the street with rain and streetlights and the certain knowledge that every window he’d passed tonight had recorded their conversation, stored their proximity, preservedthe moment her reflection had leaned into his touch while their actual bodies maintained careful distance.
Bastien walked to his own car. The rearview mirror showed his face exactly as it should—tired, wet from rain, expression neutral except for the tension around his eyes.
Then his reflection smiled. Slow curve of lips that held satisfaction instead of humor, expression that suggested the network had gotten exactly what it wanted from tonight’s performance.
He looked away. Started the engine. Drove home through streets where every puddle reflected possible futures instead of present reality, where every window showed conversations that hadn’t happened yet, where mirrors remembered everything and forgave nothing.
His phone buzzed.
Delphine:I meant what I said. We’re working together now. All of it, not just the parts you think are safe.
Bastien: Understood.
