Avery had always believed the worst of a puzzle was when it fell apart—the way it lost its form, its loveliness, when the pieces flew in directions you couldn't control.
But now, looking into the mirror in the dimmed, strange room, she realized she'd been wrong.
The worst wasn't the falling apart.
Worst of all was discovering you never were the one assembling pieces to start with.
She glared at the woman staring back at her. She wasn't. Not exactly. Something about the woman standing before her—the way her eyes blazed, the way her lips tipped just a fraction too far upward in a sneer as if mocking her own smile—wasn't correct.
"Are you watching me too?" she croaked, her voice parched in the quiet.
The figure in the mirror smiled. It wasn't her smile. Not the one she knew. It wasn't even the same expression. It was… colder. Unfeeling.
Avery took a step closer. Her heart thudded in her chest as her reflection did the same.
"You're not me," she muttered, barely recognizing her own words. She was breathing too fast, her pulse a drumbeat in her ears. "Who are you?"
The smile grew wider, but the figure said nothing.
For a brief moment, Avery saw something in the mirror—something familiar. It disappeared before she could grasp it.
The moment was gone.
A voice—Reed's voice, distant and frantic—yanked her focus away.
"Avery!" he yelled down the hall, the voice flat as if the air between them was thick. "Where the hell are you?"
She didn't answer immediately. She couldn't.
Her eyes stayed locked on the mirror, her own face staring back at her with a kind of hollow satisfaction.
Her fingers trembled as she reached out towards it. For a moment, she was sure she would touch cold glass, but instead her fingers penetrated further. The reflection pulled her in.
***
The voice of Reed grew close. "Avery, stop this. Whatever, you don't have to continue."
There was energy building inside the room. The reflection moved in her direction, repeating all that she did, until her hands rose up and touched the edge of the mirror.
Her body thrashed back, but her fingers did not let go of the cold surface. Fear coursed through her veins. She could feel her image hammering against her, holding her fast.
Then there was motion. The glass rippled like water, and Avery started falling, the world around her tilting in a whirling shape, then—nothing. No noise. No pressure either, just release, except the walls collapsed too, with nothing behind them but blackness.
***
Then the light.
But this wasn't the dark, flickering light of the house.
This was blinding, harsh, slicing through shadows like a laser beam. Avery blinked, trying to get her bearings on what was going on around her, but it was no use. She was trapped in an infinite void, the earth beneath her slippery and hard. She could hear the thrum of machinery, the whirring sound of something mechanical.
Her hands were shaking as she raised her hand to her head, her mind reeling.
The mirror. The reflection.
What was it that she saw?
Before she could even try to make sense of it, a voice cut through the din.
A voice that wasn't Reed's.
"Welcome to the next step of the game, Avery. Are you prepared?"
***
Avery's heart raced fast as the voice echoed in the sterile, vacant room that surrounded her. The wordless words floated in the air, a thick mist that clouded her mind.
"Are you ready?"
The question had apparently hung in the air, a challenge, a taunt. Avery crept forward a step, her eyes darting over the space. There was no floor, no walls, only the constant light and hum of machinery in the distance. She clenched her fists, the tightness growing as fear tugged at her mind.
"Where am I?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
But the silence that followed was oppressive. She was isolated—alone as she had ever been—except for that obtrusive presence she could not escape. It felt as though the very room itself was observing her, intruding on her, waiting for the mistake she would commit.
Suddenly, the light flickered and Avery stepped back as something began to take shape in front of her. Shapes, at first warped, began to solidify. They twisted, resembling liquid, but eventually, the silhouette of a figure materialized—a tall figure that seemed to emanate an otherworldly glow.
Avery blinked. Was it real? Was she dreaming?
No. This figure, it was him.
The man whose presence terrorized her nightmares, one who seemed to know her better than she knew herself. The man whose voice would now echo tirelessly in her mind.
His face remained in shadow, but there was no uncertainty in the quality of familiarity that clung to him. The figure moved toward her with unnerving composure, each step deliberate, as if the space between them was merely a courtesy.
"Avery."
His voice was a gentle whisper, smooth, like skin against silk.
"It's always been you, hasn't it?"
Avery's throat tightened. The words stung, seeping under her skin.
"What do you mean?" she snarled, her throat raw. "What's happening?"
Reed—if he was him at all—smiled, but not like she knew him. This smile was rougher, sharper, like a knife under the softness of his lips.
"Do you ever wonder, Avery, that you can't remember?" His voice was just above a whisper now, a breath against her ear. "Why you can't trust yourself?"
Her head reeled. The truth. It was always about that. The truth she was trying to flee. The truth she couldn't see. But why couldn't she remember?
"What do you mean?" she forced out, her hands quivering at her hips. "Why am I here?"
Reed's body drew nearer, now just a few feet from her. "You've been here the whole time," he breathed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You're not just a player, Avery. You're the key."
A wave of nausea rushed over her. The world around her rippled, lines of reality twisting. Was he telling the truth? Was it all a game, a test, something already set in motion far earlier than she'd ever known?
The light dissolved, the whine of the machinery decreasing to a low, gruff growl. The air congealed, heavy as a mist that would not let her go. Avery felt a pull, a force beyond her senses pulling at her, pushing her toward something she couldn't see but felt was moving toward her.
"Stop," she rasped, her throat hoarse. "I don't know. What do you want from me?"
But Reed—if it actually was him—did not react. He tilted his head, his smile spreading into a feral, a sinister one.
"You already know the answer, Avery," he said, his voice now a ghost of something much older, much worse.
"The question was never about the puzzle. It was about you.
The air crackled, and Avery sensed the floor beneath her give way. She blinked, and the space surrounding her transformed once more. The blinding light that had blinded her previously was gone; instead, she beheld soft, dancing flames—candlelight, warm and inviting, casting twisted shadows up the walls.
Before her, a table appeared, and upon it, one thing: an old, tattered book. The pages were parched and yellow, the leather binding cracked and faded, as if it had been sitting there for centuries.
Her hands reached out on their own accord. She couldn't help but do so. The book appeared to beckon her, its weight a pull she couldn't resist.
As her fingers brushed against the cover, the room seemed to come to life, shadow dancing on walls like mute witnesses to ritual. The book creaked open, page after page of codes, symbols, and words twisting into form, her mind flinched away from as unspeakable.
Her gaze settled on the first sentence.
"To see the truth, one must shatter first the mirror."
The words were a blow, each syllable a punch to her chest. She stepped back, but the room did not move. The words hung in front of her eyes, refusing to let her go.
"What is this?" she panted, her hands trembling. "Who wrote this?"
There was no answer, only the sound of her own gasping breath.
And then, suddenly, there was a shape. A familiar shape. A man.
***
She swallowed hard with enthusiasm. He had returned to her. The man of the pictures, who had haunted her from the very start. The one who knew her so well.
The other time, he had not spoken. Today as well, he just stood where he was and dug his burning gaze deep into her eyes.
The book. The man. The mirror.
Avery's mind spun as the weight of the revelation crashed down upon her. She wasn't just a player in this game. She wasn't just a victim.
She was the center of it all.
***
The figure stepped forward, his eyes locking with hers.
"You've always known, haven't you?" he whispered. "The truth was never about the riddles. It was about you."
Avery's breath hitched as she sank deeper into the well of her own doubt. The mirror, the book, the pictures—it all connected. How?
Her mind spun with the discovery, the horror, as she reached again for the book, needing to understand.
And then—
A scream ripped through the shadows. It was not hers.
It was Reed's.