Chapter 3
Nate
One second, Jess’s lips were on mine, hot with some strange static, the next, the hallway bent.
Literally bent—the floor had tilted toward the trophy case.
My stomach lurched, my vision filling with silver light.
Before I could move, something yanked me forward, hard, right through my own reflection.
What. Just. Happened?
One minute, I was selling tickets to the school play. The next, Jessica Knox, the girl I’ve been low-key crushing on since eighth grade, was kissing me under the ticket table like we were in some indie rom-com.
For about ten seconds, it was perfect. She tasted like peaches and… maybe magic? Then, my lips went hot, and actual sparks shot into my face.
She bolted before I could ask what kind of lip gloss does that. Now, I was standing in the middle of the hallway, alone, trying to figure out if I’d just imagined the whole thing.
Except… something felt wrong.
The corridor looked the same. Lockers, trophy case, bulletin board with thirty copies of the same ‘Drama Club Bake Sale!’ flyer, but the colors were off.
The white walls were grey. The floor was darker.
Even the fluorescent lights had a weird, watery glow, like they were shining through fog.
The air was heavier, too, as if it had been steeped in silence for years.
The colors didn’t just fade, they leaned away from me, like I didn’t belong here.
A cold weight settled in my stomach. I knew this place. Not from being here, but from stories my grandfather used to tell when I was a kid, back before I knew they were lessons.
“The Mirror Realm,” he’d said, keeping his voice low like he thought the glass in the windows might overhear him. “A place that looks like ours, but it’s hungrier, and it’s patient. Never step through a reflection unless you’re sure you can step back.”
I hadn’t listened then. Now, I wished I had.
The silence was wrong, too. It wasn’t just that no one was talking, it was the way the sound of my own breathing seemed to get lost, folding into itself like I was standing in a room lined with soft cloth. Even the faint hum of the lights was gone.
I took a cautious step forward. My sneakers didn’t squeak. They didn’t make any noise.
Something flickered at the edge of my vision. A shadow slid across the lockers a few feet ahead, smooth as a spill of ink. I spun toward it, but the hallway was empty.
Then, I noticed the trophy case. The glass was so clean it looked non-existent, except the reflection wasn’t quite right. The hallway behind me in the glass was darker, the shadows stretched thin and long, and at the far end, I thought I saw someone. Tall. Still. Watching.
My throat tightened. I told myself it was a trick of the light and kept moving.
A door stood ajar at the end of the hall, opening into the forest where the parking lot should’ve been. Through the gap, I saw silver-grey trees, their leaves unmoving in air that didn’t seem to breathe.
I reached for a low branch that arched across the threshold and froze. In the reflection of the glass door, my hand closed around it. Out here in the real-not-real air, my fingers passed straight through like it was smoke. The branch in the reflection twitched, as if it felt me anyway.
I yanked my hand back.
Somewhere out among the trees, a low hum rose, almost too soft to hear. It wasn’t wind. It wasn’t birds. It was a voice, deep and smooth, curling through the silence like it belonged here.
Perhaps, it did.