“Probably.”
She pushed away from the counter. “Then we need to figure out how to identify his distortions versus legitimate mirror phenomena.” She looked between him and Maman. “There must be tells. Ways to recognize manipulation.”
Maman smiled. Small expression, barely a curve of lips, but warm. “Smart girl. Yes, there are tells. Gideon is skilled, but not perfect.”
“Show me.”
For the next hour, Maman taught. She pulled mirrors from her inventory—small hand glasses, ornate wall pieces, a compact that had belonged to someone’s grandmother three generations back. She demonstrated how Gideon’s distortions carried a specific frequency, a dissonance that felt wrong if you knew what to listen for.
Bastien watched Delphine learn. She took notes in her neat handwriting, asked clarifying questions, tested her understanding by examining mirrors Maman designated as clean versus contaminated. She approached the education with the same thoroughness she brought to archival work, and within forty minutes she could identify tainted glass with seventy percent accuracy.
“Good,” Maman said, setting aside the last test mirror. “That instinct will keep you safe when Bastien isn’t there to check surfaces for you.”
Delphine glanced at him. “Will you be able to tell? Without a reflection?”
“I can still sense frequency distortion. I just can’t verify my own presence through reflected observation anymore.”
“So you’ll be functioning on faith that you’re actually where you think you are.”
“Essentially.”
She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “That seems dangerous.”
“It’s the price I paid for protecting the network.” He kept his voice matter-of-fact, refusing to acknowledge the fear that had been building since he’d first looked into that puddle on Dauphine Street. “I’ll adapt.”
“You always do.” But she didn’t sound convinced.
Maman stood. “I’m making tea. Delphine, help me in the back. Bastien needs a moment with his thoughts.”
Delphine followed without argument. The two women disappeared through the curtain that separated the shop from Maman’s private rooms, leaving Bastien surrounded by mirrors that refused to acknowledge him.
He moved through the shop slowly, testing each reflective surface. Antique hand mirrors showed the shop’s interior in perfect detail, but he remained absent from every image. A full-length mirror near the back reflected the empty chair where he’d stood moments ago, the floorboards, the light fixture overhead—everything except him.
He raised his hand. Watched the mirror fail to show the movement.
Three centuries of checking his reflection to confirm reality, and now that tool was gone. He would walk through the world as a ghost in glass, present in all ways except the ones mirrors understood.
The curtain rustled. Delphine emerged carrying two cups of tea, Maman following with a third. They settled into chairs near the counter, and Delphine handed him the darker brew.
“She says you take it strong enough to fight back.”
“She’s right.”
He drank. The tea was bitter, hot, exactly what his exhaustion needed. They sat in silence for a moment, three people processing the implications of what had shifted overnight.
Finally, Delphine spoke. “What’s the next step?”
“I need to return to the vault. Assess any damage from the lattice work, and verify the integration is holding.”
“Not alone.”
Her tone left no room for argument, but he tried anyway. “The vault is unstable. Until I verify structural integrity?—”
“Not. Alone.” She met his eyes, and he saw the same determination that had carried her through weeks of unexplained mirror phenomena without breaking. “You went alone last night and lost your reflection. I’m not letting you go back without backup.”
Maman nodded. “She’s right, petit ange. The vault may not recognize you now that you’re integrated. You need someone to anchor you to physical space, or you might become lost in the structure you’ve woven yourself into.”
Bastien wanted to argue. Wanted to insist he could handle it, that bringing Delphine deeper into danger was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid. But he looked at her face—tired, determined, absolutely unwilling to yield—and recognized she wouldn’t back down.
