Between Frequencies

Mishka was out of bed before her mind fully registered what was happening. The cold recording pulsed against her hip as she grabbed her jacket, eyes fixed on the mirror where Isabella's reflection had already faded, leaving only the faintest impression of those impossible shadows.

Her phone buzzed continuously:

Graham: "All systems at venue going haywire. Don't come here."

Bruce: "Prototype pieces activating on their own. Containment failing."

Unknown Number: "The threshold is thinning. Choose quickly."

The hotel hallway was eerily quiet as she rushed toward the elevator, the contrast between normal reality and what was unfolding making everything feel dreamlike. The wolf's howl echoed again, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Myrtle, sword drawn and gleaming.

"I told you to stay put," her grandmother said, though there was no real reproach in her voice.