Chapter 2: The Wrong Reflection

The bathroom mirror reflected his face back at him, same as always.

Cass leaned over the sink, hands braced against the cool porcelain, and exhaled slowly. The morning routine should have grounded him—shave, brush his teeth, splash cold water on his face—but the unease from earlier hadn't faded.

He was still thinking about Vera's drawing.

It was nothing. He knew that. Just a kid sketching whatever came to mind. A coincidence.

But why had it felt so damn familiar?

Cass rubbed his temples, staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes were tired, the faintest hint of dark circles beneath them. Had he not been sleeping well? He couldn't remember. It wasn't like him to forget things like that, but lately, everything had been slipping through the cracks.

Maybe that was the problem.

He was overworked. Too much stress, too much distraction. That's why everything felt…off.

He sighed, turning the faucet on again and letting the water run cold before splashing some onto his face. The sharp chill helped. A little.

Straightening, he reached for the hand towel, drying his face. He tossed it onto the counter and turned to leave—

—but something in the mirror caught his eye.

Cass froze.

His reflection hadn't moved.

His pulse slammed against his ribs.

He forced himself to look again, heart hammering. No. That wasn't right. He had turned, hadn't he? He must've just—

The reflection moved, perfectly delayed by half a second.

He felt the blood drain from his face.

Cass took a careful step back. His reflection copied him, perfectly in sync.

Was he imagining it? Was his mind playing tricks on him?

His breathing was shallow now. He lifted a hand, fingers trembling, and waved. The reflection followed. It was normal. It was fine. It was—

It blinked too late.

Cass stumbled back, slamming into the counter. The air in the bathroom felt tight, suffocating. His reflection stood there, watching him. It wasn't smiling, it wasn't hostile, it wasn't anything—just wrong.

He didn't move.

Neither did it.

A full second passed.

Then, the reflection lifted a hand.

Cass bolted.

He yanked the door open and nearly ran into Logan, who was standing right outside.

"Whoa," the boy said, startled. "You okay?"

Cass blinked hard, forcing himself to breathe. His heart felt like it was going to explode. He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting—

The mirror was normal.

His own reflection stared back at him.

Perfectly normal.

Cass exhaled, shaking his head. "Yeah," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Just—thought I saw something."

Logan frowned, then glanced past him toward the mirror. "Like what?"

"Nothing," Cass said too quickly. "It was nothing."

Logan gave him a look—the same skeptical one Cass had seen a thousand times—but shrugged it off. "Well, Mom says breakfast is ready, so you better hurry before Vera steals the last pancake."

Cass nodded. "Right. Yeah. I'll be there in a sec."

Logan didn't press. He just turned and wandered off down the hall, already lost in whatever was playing on his game console.

Cass lingered for a moment, glancing back toward the mirror.

His reflection was normal now.

He knew what he had seen.

But it wasn't there anymore.

And somehow, that was worse.

Breakfast was a blur.

He sat at the table, nodding along to conversation, responding when necessary, but his mind was still in the bathroom. His skin prickled with the memory of that half-second delay, that blink that came too late.

It hadn't been a trick of the light. It hadn't been his imagination.

It had been real.

And yet, what was he supposed to do with that?

Tell his wife, "Hey, I think my reflection just moved on its own"?

Tell Logan and Vera, "By the way, your dad might be losing his mind"?

No.

The logical part of him screamed that there was an explanation. Maybe it had been a trick of the light. Maybe he had moved faster than he thought. Maybe his brain had just misfired for a second.

Except none of those explanations felt right.

"You're quiet," his wife said, nudging his arm.

Cass blinked, realizing too late that everyone else had already finished eating. He barely touched his food.

"Just tired," he said automatically.

She studied him for a moment, eyes soft with concern. But then Vera dropped her fork and Logan knocked over his juice, and the moment passed.

Cass quietly pushed his plate away.

He needed air.

The walk to work did little to clear his mind.

He took the same route every day—down Oakridge, past the corner store, across the busy intersection at 5th and Main. Everything looked the same. The same people, the same cars, the same storefronts opening for the morning rush.

Too much the same.

Cass tried to shake the feeling, but it clung to him, dragging his thoughts back into the pit of uncertainty.

Wasn't the florist supposed to be on the left side of the street, not the right?

Hadn't the coffee shop's sign been blue, not red?

Little things. Insignificant things.

Except, for the first time, Cass wasn't so sure.

He kept walking, his grip tightening around the strap of his bag.

He was losing it.

He had to be.

Because if he wasn't…

Cass exhaled through his nose, trying to force the thoughts out of his head.

If he wasn't, then something was wrong with the world.

And that wasn't an option he was ready to consider.

By the time he got to work, the unease had settled into his bones like a second skin.

The office was the same as always—rows of desks, the steady hum of computers, the occasional ringing phone. A normal workday.

A normal life.

Cass sat down, powered on his monitor, and tried to focus.

Thirty minutes later, he realized he had been staring at a blank email draft the entire time.

He had typed nothing.

His mind was still in the mirror.

Still in the flicker of details that didn't line up.

Still stuck in the space between knowing something was wrong and being too afraid to admit it.

Cass clenched his jaw and forced himself to type.

Normal.

It was just a normal day.

Wasn't it?

End of Chapter 2