through the hollow glass
Chapter Four: Through the Hollow Glass
"Monsters hide in the dark. Gods hide in the light."
— Liam Carter
The Black SUV
Emma's heart pounded as she walked briskly down the street, her eyes flicking toward the black SUV still trailing her. She hadn't looked directly at it, but she knew it was there. Moving slowly. Steadily. Matching her pace.
Her breath was sharp and shallow. She could feel her pulse in her throat. The same man from the café was driving. She knew it.
But she didn't run.
Not yet.
Because she knew what Liam had told her once during one of his restless, sleepless nights.
"If they're watching you, they're waiting for you to run. That's when they strike."
So she kept walking.
Even when her legs begged her to sprint.
Even when her hands were trembling in her coat pockets.
She turned the corner, ducking into a narrow side street lined with graffiti-tagged brick walls. The SUV slowed. The engine rumbled low and steady.
Keep walking. Just keep walking.
But when she reached the dead end, her blood turned to ice.
Her breath hitched.
Her heart slammed against her chest.
She turned slowly, and the SUV pulled into the alley behind her.
The windows were still tinted.
She couldn't see the driver.
But she could feel him watching.
Her fingers dug into the seams of her coat pocket, feeling the cold edge of her keychain knife, her only weapon. Useless against whatever this was.
The SUV stopped.
The engine idled.
She took a step back.
And then the driver's side door opened.
Emma's breath caught. She gripped the knife's handle with white knuckles.
But when the man stepped out, she froze.
It wasn't the man from the café.
It was Liam.
Her heart stuttered. For a moment, she felt relief swell in her chest. She almost called out to him. Almost ran to him.
But then she saw his eyes.
And she knew.
It wasn't Liam.
It only looked like him.
The Man Who Wore His Face
The thing that stepped out of the SUV was not human.
It wore Liam's face perfectly—the same tousled hair, the faint stubble along his jaw, the slight scar just above his left brow. It even walked like him, with that same casual, steady stride.
But when it looked at her, its eyes were wrong.
Too dark.
Too hollow.
Like looking into a reflection with no one behind the glass.
The thing smiled softly—too softly. The kind of smile that Liam would have given her during their late-night talks, when he let his guard down. When he trusted her.
But there was nothing behind it.
No warmth.
No humanity.
Just the absence of both.
"Emma," the thing said in Liam's voice. "You're scared."
She took a step back. Her heel scraped against the curb.
The thing in Liam's skin took a step forward, its smile never faltering. Too calm. Too gentle. It extended its hand.
"Don't do that," it said softly, tilting its head. "Don't run."
Its eyes were too still. It didn't blink.
She turned and ran.
The Glitch in the World
Emma's boots slammed against the pavement as she sprinted down the narrow alleyway. Her lungs burned. She didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
She knew it was right behind her.
But then—the world shifted.
For a split second, the alley changed.
She blinked—and it was wrong.
The graffiti on the walls was backward, as if she were looking at a mirrored reflection.
The trash cans were on the opposite side, though she was certain they had been on the right when she passed them.
And the sunlight dimmed slightly, as though someone had drawn a thin, sheer curtain over the sky.
Her feet stumbled on uneven asphalt that hadn't been uneven before.
The distance stretched unnaturally—longer than it should have been. The alleyway was suddenly too narrow, the walls pressing in.
Her shadow fractured, splitting into two distinct silhouettes cast in opposite directions.
One ahead.
One behind.
And then she heard it.
A sound like paper tearing underwater.
She turned.
And the thing wearing Liam's face was glitching.
For a moment, it flickered—its limbs twisting at odd angles, its face becoming distorted. Its skin cracked into fine lines of shadow, splitting like dried ink.
It took a step toward her, and its legs flickered slightly out of sync with its body.
It blinked.
And when its eyes reopened, they were not Liam's anymore.
They were black glass, glimmering with splinters of light.
Emma staggered back, her breath ragged. Her chest heaved.
And then she felt something cold brush against her fingers.
A hand.
Liam's real hand.
"Run."
His voice was low. Real. Human.
Not the imposter's voice.
She turned. The real Liam stood behind her, his eyes burning with fury, his jaw clenched tight. His shadow flickered unnaturally against the wall.
Too tall.
Too thin.
Part of it still lingering in the Veil.
"Don't look back," he muttered. "Just run."
She didn't argue.
She ran.
The Hollowborn and the Veilwalker
They sprinted down the narrow alleyway together, Emma barely able to keep pace with Liam. Her throat burned. Her legs screamed. But she didn't stop.
When they finally broke free of the twisting alley, Emma's breath caught in her chest. The sun was still shining. The street was still crowded. Cars still moved by, people still walked along the sidewalk, oblivious.
It was as though nothing had happened.
As though the alley behind them had never existed.
She gasped for air, clutching her knees. Her vision blurred slightly.
But Liam didn't stop.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the nearest storefront—a rundown pawn shop, the windows caked with grime. He yanked her inside and shoved the door closed behind them.
He slammed his palm against the glass window. A faint pulse of black light flashed across the frame. A glyph she didn't recognize burned faintly into the glass—some kind of ward.
When he turned to face her, she saw the Veil in his eyes.
Faint shadows coiled at the edges of his irises.
His pupils were flickering black mirrors, reflecting things that weren't there.
She stumbled back. "What the hell was that?!" she gasped.
Liam's face was pale and hard, his knuckles bloodless from clenching his fists.
"A Hollowborn," he muttered grimly.
Her hands were still shaking.
"That—that was you. It was wearing your face."
Liam's jaw tightened. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, the shadows in his irises were gone.
"It's called a Hollowshade. They mimic people you trust. Wear their skin like a mask. They're not supposed to exist in the mortal plane without a tether."
Emma's stomach twisted.
"But it was here. Following me. In daylight."
He exhaled sharply.
"Yeah." He met her gaze, his expression dark. "Because they're not hiding anymore."
Chapter Four: Through the Hollow Glass
"Monsters hide in the dark. Gods hide in the light."
— Liam Carter
The Black SUV
Emma's heart pounded as she walked briskly down the street, her eyes flicking toward the black SUV still trailing her. She hadn't looked directly at it, but she knew it was there. Moving slowly. Steadily. Matching her pace.
Her breath was sharp and shallow. She could feel her pulse in her throat. The same man from the café was driving. She knew it.
But she didn't run.
Not yet.
Because she knew what Liam had told her once during one of his restless, sleepless nights.
"If they're watching you, they're waiting for you to run. That's when they strike."
So she kept walking.
Even when her legs begged her to sprint.
Even when her hands were trembling in her coat pockets.
She turned the corner, ducking into a narrow side street lined with graffiti-tagged brick walls. The SUV slowed. The engine rumbled low and steady.
Keep walking. Just keep walking.
But when she reached the dead end, her blood turned to ice.
Her breath hitched.
Her heart slammed against her chest.
She turned slowly, and the SUV pulled into the alley behind her.
The windows were still tinted.
She couldn't see the driver.
But she could feel him watching.
Her fingers dug into the seams of her coat pocket, feeling the cold edge of her keychain knife, her only weapon. Useless against whatever this was.
The SUV stopped.
The engine idled.
She took a step back.
And then the driver's side door opened.
Emma's breath caught. She gripped the knife's handle with white knuckles.
But when the man stepped out, she froze.
It wasn't the man from the café.
It was Liam.
Her heart stuttered. For a moment, she felt relief swell in her chest. She almost called out to him. Almost ran to him.
But then she saw his eyes.
And she knew.
It wasn't Liam.
It only looked like him.
The Man Who Wore His Face
The thing that stepped out of the SUV was not human.
It wore Liam's face perfectly—the same tousled hair, the faint stubble along his jaw, the slight scar just above his left brow. It even walked like him, with that same casual, steady stride.
But when it looked at her, its eyes were wrong.
Too dark.
Too hollow.
Like looking into a reflection with no one behind the glass.
The thing smiled softly—too softly. The kind of smile that Liam would have given her during their late-night talks, when he let his guard down. When he trusted her.
But there was nothing behind it.
No warmth.
No humanity.
Just the absence of both.
"Emma," the thing said in Liam's voice. "You're scared."
She took a step back. Her heel scraped against the curb.
The thing in Liam's skin took a step forward, its smile never faltering. Too calm. Too gentle. It extended its hand.
"Don't do that," it said softly, tilting its head. "Don't run."
Its eyes were too still. It didn't blink.
She turned and ran.
The Glitch in the World
Emma's boots slammed against the pavement as she sprinted down the narrow alleyway. Her lungs burned. She didn't look back.
She didn't need to.
She knew it was right behind her.
But then—the world shifted.
For a split second, the alley changed.
She blinked—and it was wrong.
The graffiti on the walls was backward, as if she were looking at a mirrored reflection.
The trash cans were on the opposite side, though she was certain they had been on the right when she passed them.
And the sunlight dimmed slightly, as though someone had drawn a thin, sheer curtain over the sky.
Her feet stumbled on uneven asphalt that hadn't been uneven before.
The distance stretched unnaturally—longer than it should have been. The alleyway was suddenly too narrow, the walls pressing in.
Her shadow fractured, splitting into two distinct silhouettes cast in opposite directions.
One ahead.
One behind.
And then she heard it.
A sound like paper tearing underwater.
She turned.
And the thing wearing Liam's face was glitching.
For a moment, it flickered—its limbs twisting at odd angles, its face becoming distorted. Its skin cracked into fine lines of shadow, splitting like dried ink.
It took a step toward her, and its legs flickered slightly out of sync with its body.
It blinked.
And when its eyes reopened, they were not Liam's anymore.
They were black glass, glimmering with splinters of light.
Emma staggered back, her breath ragged. Her chest heaved.
And then she felt something cold brush against her fingers.
A hand.
Liam's real hand.
"Run."
His voice was low. Real. Human.
Not the imposter's voice.
She turned. The real Liam stood behind her, his eyes burning with fury, his jaw clenched tight. His shadow flickered unnaturally against the wall.
Too tall.
Too thin.
Part of it still lingering in the Veil.
"Don't look back," he muttered. "Just run."
She didn't argue.
She ran.
The Hollowborn and the Veilwalker
They sprinted down the narrow alleyway together, Emma barely able to keep pace with Liam. Her throat burned. Her legs screamed. But she didn't stop.
When they finally broke free of the twisting alley, Emma's breath caught in her chest. The sun was still shining. The street was still crowded. Cars still moved by, people still walked along the sidewalk, oblivious.
It was as though nothing had happened.
As though the alley behind them had never existed.
She gasped for air, clutching her knees. Her vision blurred slightly.
But Liam didn't stop.
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the nearest storefront—a rundown pawn shop, the windows caked with grime. He yanked her inside and shoved the door closed behind them.
He slammed his palm against the glass window. A faint pulse of black light flashed across the frame. A glyph she didn't recognize burned faintly into the glass—some kind of ward.
When he turned to face her, she saw the Veil in his eyes.
Faint shadows coiled at the edges of his irises.
His pupils were flickering black mirrors, reflecting things that weren't there.
She stumbled back. "What the hell was that?!" she gasped.
Liam's face was pale and hard, his knuckles bloodless from clenching his fists.
"A Hollowborn," he muttered grimly.
Her hands were still shaking.
"That—that was you. It was wearing your face."
Liam's jaw tightened. He closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them, the shadows in his irises were gone.
"It's called a Hollowshade. They mimic people you trust. Wear their skin like a mask. They're not supposed to exist in the mortal plane without a tether."
Emma's stomach twisted.
"But it was here. Following me. In daylight."
He exhaled sharply.
"Yeah." He met her gaze, his expression dark. "Because they're not hiding anymore."
Liam's Hidden Past: The Veilwalker's Curse
"There's a moment when you cross the Veil for the first time. A moment when you realize you've gone too far. That you can never come back. That's when they see you. That's when they mark you."
— Liam Carter
The First Crossing: The Night He Became Hollow
Liam was twenty-four the first time he crossed the Veil.
Too young.
Too reckless.
Too ignorant to know he was walking into a place he was never meant to leave.
At the time, he was just a nameless operative—one of dozens working for a black-ops division buried so deeply in the intelligence community that even its own agents didn't know its name. The job had been simple:
• Retrieve a stolen package.
• Eliminate the targets.
• No questions asked.
He'd done it before.
Countless times.
But this was different.
Because the package wasn't a weapon.
It wasn't data.
It wasn't money.
It was a doorway.
The Gate in the Cathedral
The mission had sent him to Prague, where the organization had been tracking a man known only as Father Leontius—an antiquities dealer turned cult leader. He and his followers had sealed themselves inside an abandoned cathedral on the outskirts of the city.
But when Liam and his team breached the compound, they found no resistance.
No guards.
No followers.
Only the bodies.
Dozens of them.
All lined in a perfect circle on the stone floor of the cathedral, their hands bound with golden twine, their eyes and mouths stitched shut with black thread.
At the center of the circle was the sigil.
Ancient. Twisting.
Its black lines burned into the stone.
And when Liam's boot accidentally brushed the outer edge, the circle bled open.
He didn't mean to step through.
He didn't even realize he had.
Because in the time it took for him to blink, he was no longer in the cathedral.
He was somewhere else.
The Hollow Wastes: His First Glimpse of the Veil
The Veil was not what he expected.
It was not fire and darkness.
It was not screaming voids or hellish pits.
It was silent.
Still.
Cold.
The cathedral was gone, replaced by an endless expanse of cracked earth. The sky was fractured glass, its jagged edges stained with pale, broken light. The ground beneath his boots felt solid and thin, like walking on ice stretched too far over a lake.
He looked down and saw his own reflection in the ground.
But it was wrong.
It was staring back at him.
And it was smiling.
The ground beneath his feet cracked outward like a web of broken glass.
He tried to turn back.
Tried to move.
But his reflection moved with him, stepping faster than he did, closing the distance.
And then he heard it.
A voice that was his own, but not.
Low. Familiar.
Rotting at the edges.
"Stay."
And for a brief, terrible moment, he wanted to.
The Hollowborn's Mark: His Bond to the Veil
When Liam crossed the Veil, they saw him.
And they marked him.
As he turned to flee, he felt something sharp drag across his palm. He stumbled back into the cathedral, his chest heaving, his breath ragged. The light was blinding, and for a moment, he thought he was safe.
But when he looked down, he saw the mark.
A thin, jagged line cut into his palm, black as ink, curling around the base of his wrist. It didn't bleed. It didn't hurt.
But it moved.
Like liquid shadow beneath his skin.
Like a living thing.
When he returned to the organization's safe house, he wrapped his hand in gauze and told no one.
But the damage was already done.
The mark wasn't just a wound.
It was a tether.
A sliver of the Veil burned into his very existence.
The Tainted Man: What the Hollowborn Did to Him
After Prague, Liam wasn't the same.
Not immediately.
Not obviously.
But the change was there.
It started subtly.
• Mirrors stopped reflecting him correctly. When he looked at his reflection, his movements were slightly delayed, his eyes a little darker than they should have been.
• His shadow lingered. When he left a room, it sometimes stayed behind for a heartbeat longer.
• He forgot things. Small things, at first. Names. Dates. Then people's faces.
• The world forgot him too. One day, his name was erased from the mission logs, though he had completed the job. Another day, an old friend swore they had never met him before.
And then came the Veilwalking.
At first, it happened accidentally—in moments of panic or fear, when he was cornered. One second he would be in a room. The next, he was somewhere else, as if he had stepped between moments.
But soon he learned to control it.
The shadow tether in his blood let him move between the mortal plane and the Veil.
He could cross the line whenever he wished.
But every time he did, he lost a piece of himself.
The Experiment: When the Organization Betrayed Him
When the organization realized what Liam had become, they didn't cut him loose.
They didn't erase him.
They used him.
They sent him on Veil raids—missions into the Hollowborn's domain.
He was their walking doorway, their key into the shadows.
But he wasn't the only one.
The organization began experimenting on its own operatives—implanting slivers of the Veil into them, trying to replicate Liam's abilities.
The results were catastrophic.
• Some agents vanished completely, torn from existence by the unstable fragments.
• Others became Stained—half-Hollowborn, their minds breaking, their souls half-shadowed.
• And the few who survived became tethers, bound to the Hollowborn like hunting dogs, their eyes black mirrors, their faces hollow masks.
Liam broke free the night he discovered the Blackstone Compound, the organization's experimental facility.
He burned it down.
He didn't look back.
The Price of His Curse
Now, Liam carries the Veil inside him.
It lingers in his blood, hollowing him from the inside out.
Every time he steps through it, he becomes less real—his edges fraying, his presence flickering.
Soon, he'll be a ghost.
Forgotten by everyone.
Even Emma.
And the Hollowborn know it.
They are waiting for him to fade, to become nothing more than a fragment of shadow—a doorway they can walk through freely.
But Liam refuses to be their pawn.
He's not just a man anymore.
He's part of the Veil.
And he plans to tear it apart from the inside.