Past
Idrag myself forward on my elbows until my fingers finally catch open air. I shove out of the tunnel and push myself to my feet.
Mirrors sit before me. Floor to ceiling, above me, even under my shoes. Dozens of me stare back with wide, panicked eyes. My palm and forearm are slick with blood, and my blonde hair sticks to my face. I turn toward the crawlspace, but the opening is gone, closed off by yet another mirror.
“No. No. No.”
I lift the glow stick and sweep it slowly, hunting for a seam, a hinge, any fucking thing to help. Some of the reflections lag, like the room is in on the game the sick fucks are playing.
The glow weakens to a flicker. It couldn’t have been three hours. “Don’t you dare,” I say, shaking it hard.
The light dies. Darkness descends over me, and I stand in mounting horror. The automated noise I want to rip out by the wires crackles again. “Wow, three hours. You’d better find the exit, Lyra.”
“Come say it to my face, you stupid fucking coward,” I shout.
Time is twisted here. I don’t know how long I was out. Roxy will start to worry when I don’t text back about Blaine’s surprise date—the one we never made it to. I start moving, arms out. Cold glass meets my palms again and again. I fight the wave of tears.
As my eyes adjust, the duplicates sharpen, and the flaws in my mirrors show.
One panel is the wrong angle, making the mirror just a bit distorted.
I don’t care if there is a latch; I want out.
Dropping my weight, I slam into it. Pain rings down my arm, but I ignore it.
I hit again, harder. A sharp crack splits the quiet, spiderwebs racing across the surface.
I don’t hesitate. I drive through the break, glass exploding outward, and stumble into another corridor.
Warmth slides down my side. I press a hand to my stomach as white-hot pain ripples across my body. “Fuck!”
“Looks like someone found a different way…” the voice purrs through the hidden speakers, and laughter follows.
“Keep laughing.” My shoulders square. “I’m getting out, and when I do, I’m coming for you.”