Chapter 20: Hollow Steps

The air in the safehouse was too still.

Riven could feel it.

The space wasn't empty. Something else was in here with them, something that wore his face and had been standing right behind him only moments ago.

Vera's gun was still raised, but her finger wasn't on the trigger. Not yet. She was waiting—watching for movement, for a flicker of wrongness that told her who to shoot.

Or what.

Vex exhaled sharply. He was still at his console, running frantic scans, but the screen remained blank now—like the second vitals had never been there at all.

Riven's throat was dry.

That wasn't a mistake.

That thing—his reflection—had been watching him. Moving just a second behind him, like a delayed echo.

And then, it had moved first.

That thought made his blood turn to ice.

"It's still here," Vera said. Not a question. A fact.

Riven swallowed hard. His senses were still raw, still off. He could feel the air brushing against his skin, hear the hum of the electricity running through the walls. But something was wrong.

Like his body wasn't fully his.

Like he was still sharing it.

Vex shook his head. "This doesn't make sense. If it was just a shadow—a glitch—there wouldn't be physical movement."

Vera's grip tightened on her weapon. "It's not a glitch."

Riven said nothing.

Because he knew.

He could feel it.

Something was stepping in his place.

---

A sound.

Soft. Barely noticeable.

A footstep.

It came from the hallway just outside the safehouse.

All three of them snapped to attention.

Vera moved first, gun raised, silent as she pressed toward the door. Riven followed, his heart hammering, his muscles tensed like a live wire. Vex hesitated before grabbing his knife and falling in behind them.

The hallway was dark. Empty.

But something lingered at the edges of perception.

Not just a presence.

A pressure.

Riven felt it in his skull, crawling along his bones.

A step forward.

The floorboards didn't creak under his boots.

But behind him—they did.

His breath hitched. He turned his head—slowly.

His own silhouette was standing at the far end of the hallway.

It was barely visible in the flickering light.

But it was there.

Still. Silent.

And watching.

Vera tensed beside him. "Riven."

"I see it," he murmured.

The thing at the end of the hall tilted its head.

Then—it moved.

Not toward them.

It walked away.

Into the next corridor. Deeper into the safehouse.

---

Vex whispered, "What the hell was that?"

Vera didn't answer.

Riven clenched his jaw. "We follow it."

Vex gave him a look. "Do we? Do we actually follow the nightmare version of you that just strolled into the dark like it's taking a walk through its new home?"

Riven's hands curled into fists. "If we don't stop it now, what happens when it decides to come back?"

Vex's expression darkened.

Vera sighed through her nose, adjusting her grip on her weapon. "We move. Careful. Quiet."

They followed.

---

The deeper they went, the colder it got.

The air was stale, pressing against them like an unseen weight.

Riven could feel something pulling at his skin, at his mind—a tug, like a thread unraveling.

Like the thing they were following was peeling something away from him with every step it took.

Vera signaled a stop. She held up a hand, eyes sharp, listening.

Silence.

Then—

A whisper.

Not from ahead.

From behind them.

Riven's stomach dropped.

Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head.

There were footprints.

Not just ahead.

Behind them.

Following them.

But none of them had heard them.

Because they hadn't been theirs.

---

Vex swore under his breath.

Riven forced his breathing to stay even. He could still feel it. It was close. It was in the walls, in the dark, under his skin.

His own face watching from somewhere unseen.

Vera shifted beside him. "This isn't just a copy." Her voice was low, measured. "This is something else."

Riven already knew that.

He could feel it like a second heartbeat.

This wasn't just something wearing his face.

It was something taking his place.

And the worst part?

It was doing it so well, he wasn't sure he could tell the difference anymore.