The Doorway

Chapter 4:

The Doorway

Lila stood before the mirror once more, the cloth draped over it like a veil hiding a secret she wasn't sure she was ready to face. Her palm still throbbed from the strange, deliberate cut—a mark that shouldn't be there, but was.

She swallowed hard, flexing her fingers as if that would make the warmth beneath her skin disappear. It didn't. The mark belonged to her now.

But what did it mean?

She reached for the cloth, hesitated, then yanked it off. The mirror's surface shimmered under the dim glow of the bookstore's lamps. Her own reflection stared back at her—wide eyes, disheveled hair, shoulders drawn tight with uncertainty.

No man. No voice.

Just her.

Lila exhaled sharply, willing herself to think logically. Mirrors don't just absorb people. She had seen him. Spoken to him. He had been there.

Hadn't he?

Her fingers ghosted over the mark on her palm, a shiver running up her spine. Something in her gut told her this wasn't over. The mirror wasn't done with her.

And she wasn't done with it.

She took a slow step forward, then another. The air around the mirror felt thicker somehow, charged like the atmosphere before a lightning strike. Lila swallowed her fear and placed her fingertips against the glass.

Nothing happened.

No electric pull, no whispers, no flickering images.

Just smooth, cold glass.

Her shoulders sagged. Had she imagined it all? Had the storm outside, the dim lighting, and her grandmother's old stories all twisted together into some waking nightmare?

And yet, the mark on her palm remained.

Lila clenched her jaw. If there were answers, they wouldn't come from standing around, waiting for magic to happen.

If the mirror was a doorway, then maybe she needed a key.

Her grandmother's stories had always been filled with hidden clues, riddles wrapped in folklore. She had never taken them seriously before, but maybe she should have.

"He waits, always watching, until someone touches the glass."

She had touched the glass.

"Find me, before they do."

Who were they?

Lila's stomach twisted.

What if she wasn't the only one who could reach him?

She braced herself and laid her palm flat against the mirror, pressing harder this time. A moment of hesitation passed, then—

A shift.

The glass gave way beneath her touch, no longer solid but something else entirely. It rippled outward, distorting her reflection like the surface of a pond disturbed by a falling stone.

Lila sucked in a breath.

This was real.

Her pulse pounded as she pushed forward, her fingers sinking into the cool, liquid surface. The mirror resisted at first, clinging to her skin like thick fog, but then—

It pulled.

A force stronger than before gripped her, yanking her forward. She had no time to scream. The world around her fractured—light bending, twisting, swallowing her whole.

And then—

Silence.

Darkness.

Lila hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. The air smelled different here—crisp, tinged with something old and electric, like a storm caught between seconds. She groaned, pushing herself up on shaky arms.

She wasn't in the bookstore anymore.

Lila blinked, her vision adjusting. She was in a massive hall, lined with towering mirrors stretching high into a vaulted ceiling. The frames were ancient, carved with symbols she didn't recognize, some cracked, others veiled in mist.

The air hummed with an energy that made her skin prickle. It was cold here, but not like the kind of cold that settled in winter—this was something deeper, something unnatural.

Then she heard it.

Footsteps.

Lila whirled around.

He was there.

The man from the mirror.

He stood a few feet away, watching her with those same emerald-green eyes, his expression unreadable. Up close, he was taller than she expected, his dark hair tousled, his features sharp but elegant. He wore a deep navy coat, the fabric lined with silver embroidery that shimmered under the dim light.

Lila's breath caught in her throat.

"You—" she started, but he cut her off.

"You shouldn't be here."

His voice was smooth, low, edged with something urgent.

Lila's pulse hammered. "I shouldn't be here? You're the one who called me!"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't think you'd actually—" He stopped himself, his gaze flickering to her palm. His expression darkened. "You touched the glass twice?"

She frowned, glancing at her hand. The mark on her palm now glowed faintly, its intricate lines pulsing like a heartbeat.

"What is this?" she demanded, showing him her palm. "What did you do to me?"

His jaw tightened. "It's not what I did. It's what the mirror did."

Lila's skin crawled. "What does that mean?"

He hesitated, looking past her, his posture tense. As if he were listening for something. Or someone.

"We don't have much time," he said.

Lila's stomach knotted. "For what?"

Before he could answer, the air around them shifted. The mirrors lining the hall flickered, their glass rippling like disturbed water. A low hum resonated through the space, growing into something deeper—darker.

The man's expression turned grim.

"They know you're here."

Lila took a step back. "Who's they?"

A shadow slithered across one of the mirrors, dark and amorphous, shifting like smoke. A shape began to form within the glass—long, skeletal fingers pressing against the surface, as if something was trying to push through.

Lila's blood ran cold.

The man grabbed her wrist, his grip firm but not unkind.

"There's no time to explain," he said, his eyes locking onto hers. "But if you want to live, you *