(POV: Lucian & Nareth / Daelen & Irian)

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POV: Lucian Mareis

Lucian’s dreams had become prisons.

Every night, he woke gasping, hands clawing at the sheets, heartbeat pounding like thunder. And every night, the same image lingered—the mirror, his reflection, and that voice whispering from within.

Tonight was worse.

The reflection moved first, tilting its head with a knowing smile. You shouldn’t have survived the crash.

Lucian’s throat went dry. “Who are you?”

You know me, the voice murmured. The reflection pressed its hand against the glass, and to Lucian’s horror, the surface rippled like water. You took my place.

He stumbled backward, the air around him shifting, cold, electric. He reached for the nearest thing—a photo on the nightstand—and froze. The image of him and Nareth smiled back, but the Lucian in the photo had unfamiliar eyes.

I am what’s left when you were supposed to die.

The lights flickered once—then went out.

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POV: Nareth Sol

The call came at 3 a.m.

Nareth barely heard Lucian’s trembling voice through the static. “I can’t breathe. It’s here again—Nareth, it’s inside me—”

He didn’t think, didn’t even grab a coat. The car keys rattled in his shaking hands as he sped through the empty streets.

When he burst into Lucian’s apartment, the air was icy. The mirrors were covered—every single one draped in sheets. Lucian sat on the floor, drenched in sweat, shaking violently.

“I told you not to come,” Lucian rasped. “It’s not safe.”

Nareth knelt beside him, cupping his face. “You think I care about safe?”

Lucian’s eyes flickered—just for a second—but Nareth saw it. A flash of someone else staring back through him. Cold. Unfamiliar.

“Lucian?” he whispered.

Lucian blinked—and for a moment, his voice wasn’t his own. “Don’t… touch me.”

Then he collapsed against Nareth’s chest, unconscious.

Nareth held him close, his heart hammering. The words from Taviel’s warning echoed in his mind. Save him or survive him.

And for the first time, Nareth didn’t know which one he could do.

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POV: Daelen Pryce

The club was loud, a blur of neon and shadows, but all Daelen could see was Irian.

He sat at the bar, calm as a blade in moonlight. The Omega’s presence drew attention without effort—soft sweater, pale hair, lips curved in that unbothered way that infuriated Daelen.

Daelen approached, slow and deliberate. “Ignoring me again?”

Irian didn’t look up. “I thought we agreed I’d rather not be your entertainment.”

Daelen’s smirk faltered, replaced by something rawer. “You think that’s what this is?”

Irian finally turned, his eyes unreadable. “Isn’t it? You lost someone, and I was convenient revenge.”

Daelen’s pulse skipped. “You don’t get to tell me what I feel.”

“No,” Irian said quietly, standing, “but I can tell when someone’s lying to themselves.”

Daelen reached out, grabbing his wrist. “You’re not walking away.”

Irian met his gaze, unflinching. “Then stop pretending you hate me.”

The air between them cracked. For the first time, Daelen didn’t pull back. His hand slid up to Irian’s jaw, thumb brushing lightly across his skin.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like falling.

But it did.

And Irian didn’t move away.

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POV: Lucian Mareis

Somewhere deep in his subconscious, Lucian opened his eyes again.

He was standing in front of a mirror that stretched endlessly into darkness. His reflection smiled faintly, blood-red light flickering in its eyes.

We’re not so different, you and I.

Lucian’s voice trembled. “You’re not me.”

The reflection’s grin widened. You keep saying that, but tell me… when was the last time you felt alive?

A hand burst through the glass, gripping his wrist. The pain was blinding.

And then—just before the world shattered—Lucian heard Nareth’s voice echoing faintly from somewhere far away.

“Lucian… wake up.”