The moment Mira woke, she knew something had changed overnight. The air in her apartment felt wrong—thinner, stretched, as if someone had quietly peeled a layer away from reality and forgotten to put it back. She blinked at the ceiling, realizing the shadows weren't behaving normally. They weren't moving, exactly, but they seemed alert, as if they had turned their attention toward her. Watching. Waiting.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table, startling her. She grabbed it quickly, hoping for a message from Alex, because she hadn't heard from him since last night. Instead, the screen displayed an error she had never seen: "Device unavailable. Boundary interference detected." Then, as if ashamed of its own glitch, the phone reset and came back to normal.
She sat up fast. "Not again," she whispered to herself.
The apartment creaked softly, but it wasn't the usual settling pipes or shifting wood. It was a slow, dragging sound, like something sliding along the walls from the inside. She froze, listening. It stopped. She wasn't sure whether that was better or worse.
She got dressed quickly, her hands trembling slightly as she buttoned her shirt. Even the mirror on the opposite wall seemed brighter than usual, the glass shimmering faintly in its frame. She didn't look at it. After everything that had started happening with reflections these past weeks, she avoided mirrors unless absolutely necessary.
She grabbed her bag, stepped into the hall, and shut the door firmly behind her. For a brief moment, the hallway lights flickered, then steadied. A warning. A reminder. A countdown.
The elevator took too long, so she took the stairs, descending quickly, her boots echoing in a rhythm that sounded almost like a second set of footsteps trailing hers. She tried to ignore the chill crawling up her spine as she pushed through the front doors into the morning light.
Outside, the city looked normal—people moving briskly, cars rushing by, shop signs glowing in predictable colors. But something about the sunlight felt off. It was too pale, almost hollow, as if someone had drained its warmth and left it as a thin imitation. Mira squinted up at the sky. The sun's outline wavered slightly. For an instant, she thought she saw a dark ring around it.
She blinked hard. Gone. Maybe.
She hurried toward the university, where she and Alex had agreed to meet Dr. Harrow again. She wasn't thrilled about it, but after reading her mother's journal last night, she knew Harrow still held answers she desperately needed. She crossed the quad, her steps quickening when she spotted Alex waiting near the science wing entrance. His posture was tense, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, eyes fixed on the ground.
The moment he noticed her, relief flickered across his face. "You're okay," he said, exhaling quickly. "I tried calling earlier but—"
"Phone didn't work. Boundary interference," she said quietly.
He nodded grimly. "Mine too. And the streetlights on my block… they were flickering in sequence again."
"That's the third night," Mira said, feeling her pulse quicken. "It's spreading."
Alex swallowed, then gestured toward the building. "Harrow's already inside. He looked…" Alex hesitated, searching for the right word. "Worse than usual."
Mira felt unease settle in her stomach. "Let's go."
They stepped inside the building, their footsteps echoing off the polished floor. The lights overhead hummed faintly, and the air smelled faintly of dust and old paper. A custodial cart sat abandoned in the hallway, a mop still dripping water onto the floor, as if someone had walked away in the middle of a task.
Mira tried not to think about how many disappearances had been reported lately.
They reached the restricted wing, where Harrow had set up what he called a "temporary research space," though it looked more like a bunker made of old filing cabinets and discarded equipment. The door was ajar. Mira pushed it open.
Harrow sat hunched over a pile of documents, his hands trembling faintly. His hair looked more disheveled than usual, and deep shadows carved themselves under his eyes. When he looked up, Mira saw fear there—real, bone-deep fear.
"You're late," he said, voice strained. "I was worried."
Alex raised a brow. "You? Worried?"
Harrow ignored the comment. He gestured to two chairs opposite him. "Sit."
Mira and Alex exchanged a glance, then obeyed. Harrow leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table tightly.
"I read your mother's journals," he said quietly. "All of them."
Mira felt her breath catch. "Then you know the truth."
"Yes," Harrow whispered. "Or at least… part of it. Your mother was brilliant, Mira. Far more brilliant than I ever was. She understood the boundary better than anyone. But she also feared it more than anyone. She wrote that something had marked you when you were a child."
"I know," Mira said. "I saw the symbol. I dreamt about it long before I found it again."
Harrow shook his head. "It wasn't just a marking. It was a binding."
Mira stiffened. "A binding of what?"
Harrow hesitated, then lifted a small metal device from the table. It looked like an oversized scanner with wires protruding from its side.
"Last night," he said slowly, "I analyzed the symbol on your wrist. The residue it leaves behind isn't ink. It's an imprint—energy that's cycling back into you. As if it's feeding."
Alex leaned forward sharply. "Feeding on what?"
Harrow's gaze flicked to Mira. "Her memories. Her emotions. Her dreams. The stronger her connection to the boundary becomes, the more it grows."
A cold shiver rippled through Mira. "What exactly is growing?"
Harrow swallowed. "The breach inside you."
The room fell silent. Mira's heartbeat thundered in her ears.
"Inside… me?" she whispered.
Harrow nodded. "Your mother did what she had to. You were exposed to the anomaly at age six. It clung to you, followed you. She couldn't destroy it. So she sealed it. Temporarily. The symbol was meant to keep it dormant, to keep you safe."
Alex clenched his jaw. "Dormant? It's not dormant anymore."
"No," Harrow said, voice cracking slightly. "It isn't."
Mira stared at her hands. They didn't look different. She didn't feel different. Except she did—every day, every hour. Something was humming under her skin. Something that felt like static, or whispering breath, or distant echoes of footsteps that weren't hers.
"But why now?" Mira asked faintly. "Why is it waking now?"
Harrow pushed a stack of documents toward her—old photographs, diagrams, experimental logs. Her mother's handwriting crowded the margins.
"Because the boundary itself is weakening," Harrow said. "Not just near you. Everywhere. Across the city. Across the world, maybe. Whatever is inside you senses it. It wants out."
Alex reached for Mira's hand under the table. His grip was warm, grounding. When she looked at him, he gave her a small, steadying nod.
"We can handle this together," he murmured.
Harrow cleared his throat, pulling Mira's attention back. "There's something else you need to understand. This… entity—this breach—doesn't exist the way living things do. It's not a creature. It's a force. A concept. It seeps into what you fear, what you remember, what you regret. It becomes familiar to you so you don't reject it."
Mira blinked. "Familiar? Like what?"
Harrow hesitated. "Like the figure you've been seeing."
The room seemed to shrink.
Mira's mind flashed with every encounter—the shape in the corner of her nightmares, the reflection in the train window, the faint outline behind her in the archive room. It had always felt like it knew her. Like it was waiting for her.
"Are you saying that figure is part of me?" she whispered.
Harrow shook his head. "Not part of you. Drawn to you. Shaped by you. An echo created by the breach. A placeholder for what it wants to become."
Alex swore softly under his breath.
Harrow leaned back, rubbing his temples. "There's a reason it only appears when you're alone or vulnerable. It isn't strong enough to fully manifest. Not yet."
Mira's voice trembled despite her efforts. "Then what happens when it becomes strong enough?"
Harrow's face drained of its remaining color. "Then it stops being a shadow."
Mira felt her stomach twist.
Before she could speak, the lights flickered violently. The room plunged into darkness for a split second, then lit again—but now the shadows along the walls looked deeper. Thicker. Alive.
Alex stood abruptly. "What was that?"
Harrow stared wide-eyed at the far corner of the room. "Stay still."
Mira followed his gaze—and froze.
A dark shape was gathering there, slowly unfolding like a flower made of night. No distinct face, no limbs yet—just a silhouette, emerging inch by inch from the wall itself. The temperature in the room dropped sharply. Mira's breath fogged in the air.
"It's not possible," Harrow whispered. "Not this soon…"
The shape lifted, stretching into something vaguely human.
Alex grabbed Mira's arm. "We need to go now."
But Mira couldn't move. Something pulled at her—not physically, but mentally, a deep tug behind her eyes. The shadow vibrated softly, as if resonating with something inside her. She felt a pressure in her chest, a slow blooming warmth that wasn't hers.
"Mira," Alex said urgently, pulling her back. "Stay with me."
Harrow stumbled backward, nearly knocking over his chair. "It's responding to her presence. Mira, look away!"
But Mira didn't. Couldn't. There was something familiar in the way the shadow tilted its head—as if it recognized her. As if it had been waiting for this moment.
A faint whisper brushed the inside of her skull.
You…
Her breath hitched. "Did you hear that?"
"No," Alex said sharply, gripping her tighter. "Mira, please—"
But the whisper grew louder, more insistent.
You opened the door.
Mira's knees buckled. Alex caught her just before she collapsed.
Harrow shouted something, but his voice sounded distant, distorted. The room spun. The shadow seemed to swell, its edges crackling like static.
Then—just as suddenly—it vanished.
The lights steadied. The cold air warmed. Silence fell.
Mira gasped, clutching her chest. Sweat dampened her skin. Alex crouched beside her, panic etched into his features.
"Mira, talk to me. What happened?"
Harrow approached slowly, his face pale. "It spoke to her, didn't it?"
Mira nodded weakly. "It said… I opened the door."
Harrow looked utterly defeated. "Then it's worse than I feared. There is no more time to waste. The breaches are accelerating because of you—but you may also be the only one who can stop them."
Mira closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She wasn't ready for this truth. She wasn't ready for any of it.
But something told her the shadow wasn't finished. Not even close.
And whatever door she had opened… it wasn't going to close on its own.