October 29. 6:47 a.m. Analysis, day one.
The pen moved across paper, recording physical characteristics. Surface temperature three degrees below ambient despite direct lamp exposure. Weight inconsistent—sixty-seven grams, then seventy-one, then sixty-nine upon successive measurements. Mass fluctuation suggested the fragment existed partially in adjacent dimensional space.
His image showed in the shard’s surface, but the picture lagged. He moved his hand. The captured motion completed itself a half-beat after his flesh had already returned to stillness.
Temporal Echo. Charlotte’s term for it. Desynchronization measured in fractions of seconds, brief enough to dismiss as optical illusion except his senses registered it as distinct phenomenon.
He leaned closer. The image didn’t just lag—it showed actions he hadn’t performed yet. His hand reached toward the lamp while his actual hand rested motionless. The captured version adjusted the light source, angling it precisely as he’d done ten minutes earlier during initial examination.
Playback. The shard was replaying the previous night’s events.
Bastien held the fragment at arm’s length, angling it to catch morning sun through the window. The image shifted. No longer his face but the auction house interior. Gideon Virelli stood near the polished wall, watching the crowd. The auctioneer raised her gavel. Collectors shifted positions. Everything rendered in miniature within the glass, the scene playing in reverse chronological sequence.
Complete visual record had been preserved in material no larger than his palm.
He set the fragment down and resumed writing.Temporal Echo confirmed. Artifact stores and replays observed events. Current playback shows auction house scene from approximately eight hours prior. Storage capacity unknown.
Resonance pattern matches boundary frequency at 432 Hz. Identical to signature detected during optical distortion event at auction house. Strong correlation suggests unified source—either single relic creating multiple effects, or network of artifacts operating in coordinated resonance.
His hand cramped as he kept writing observations. He’d been documenting for thirty minutes straight, his patient, celestial focus compressing time when intellectual challenge engaged him. The journal pages contained diagrams, calculations, and observations dense enough to constitute a research paper.
A sound interrupted concentration. Not the shard’s hum or the building’s normal settling, but displacement of air that suggested materialization rather than approach. Something had just arrived but he couldn’t discern what.
His image moved in the window glass.
Bastien turned. The pane showed only morning sun and the oak tree whose branches scraped exterior brick when windaligned properly. No movement. No disturbance. Just glass showing what existed in physical space.
Except his reflection faced the wrong direction.
The captured version of himself looked back toward the desk while his actual body oriented toward the window. Impossible geometry that made him recoil from the logical violation.
The image normalized. Synchronized perfectly, showing nothing unusual. But the temperature drop hadn’t been his imagination, and neither had the impossible geometry.
He approached the window. Glass felt cold against his fingertips despite October warmth that had humidity collecting on every surface. The temperature change suggested energy drain, heat absorbed by process requiring more power than passive reflection.
Words formed on the surface.
Condensation that shouldn’t have existed on the exterior pane arranged itself into precise script. Reversed lettering that read correctly when viewed from inside.
Every reflection tells the truth.
It’s the viewer who lies.
The message held for three seconds before evaporating, moisture dispersing as though wind had scattered it. No trace remained except the cold patch and the certainty that someone had just delivered communication while standing nowhere near the building.
Mirror-Forged Ink. Same technique as the envelope’s hidden message but deployed with surgical precision in his home. Whoever sent the auction house invitation possessed skill to manifest text through any polished surface, distance rendered irrelevant.
Bastien stepped back. The oak’s branches scraped brick with sound that matched normal acoustics. Traffic noise filtered up from the street. A neighbor’s dog barked twice. Ordinarymorning routine surrounding an event that violated every principle of isolated space.
He returned to the desk. The shard sat exactly where he’d left it, absorbing light with patient hunger. But the hum had changed. Frequency shifted higher by increments, moving from boundary resonance toward something that made his teeth ache.
The journal lay open to his most recent entry. Beneath his final sentence, new words formed.
The hunter studies the glass.
The glass studies back.
Ink materialized letter by letter, building from nothing. Handwriting matched his own except for subtle variations in pressure and slant. Someone appeared to be copying his documentation style with accuracy that suggested either intimate familiarity with his research methods or access to enough samples to forge convincing reproduction.
