Chapter 7 – The Blood Behind the Mirror
1229 Words
There was something sacred about mornings in the safehouse.
No city noise. No hospital alarms. No cold stares or judgment wrapped in lab coats. Just coffee, fog through the trees, and the faint creak of old floorboards beneath barefoot steps.
Sabrina sat cross-legged on the couch, hair damp from the shower, a book open but unread in her lap. Across from her, Isaac worked at the old wooden table, two phones in front of him, neither ringing.
She was watching him again.
Not because she didn’t trust him—but because she was still trying to believe this version of him was real.
A man who protected instead of controlled. Who listened instead of diagnosed. Who walked beside her rather than pulling her from the fire like a savior.
She hadn’t known that kind of man existed.
“Is it hard?” she asked softly.
Isaac glanced up. “What?”
“Living in two worlds. The one with blood… and this one, with books and coffee.”
He leaned back. “It’s not hard.”
“No?”
“It’s exhausting.”
She smiled faintly. “Why do you do it, then?”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“You.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest.
“You barely know me,” she said.
“I’ve known killers with kind eyes and priests who wear lies like vestments. But you…” He tilted his head. “You’re the first person I’ve met who lives with truth, even when it hurts.”
She blinked.
“And that scares me more than any gun ever could.”
She didn’t know what to say to that.
So instead, she stood, walking toward the hallway.
“I’m going to the upstairs bathroom.”
Isaac nodded. “Stay where the signal’s strong. If anything feels wrong, yell.”
She rolled her eyes, amused. “Yes, sir.”
But as she walked away, the humor faded.
Because something did feel wrong.
Not loud. Not sharp.
Just… off.
The upstairs bathroom hadn’t been used in years. She could tell by the dust on the mirror, the smell of old wood, the way the faucet groaned before giving water.
She leaned forward, hands braced on the sink, eyes scanning her own reflection.
Then she saw it.
A tiny flash of light behind the mirror.
Not sunlight. Not electricity.
A lens.
Her blood ran cold.
She stepped back slowly. Then opened the medicine cabinet—and found it.
A small black device, no bigger than a coin, tucked in the corner, hidden behind expired pills.
A camera.
Her chest tightened. “Isaac—!”
Footsteps thundered up the stairs before she could finish.
He burst into the bathroom, gun in hand, eyes scanning.
She held up the device. “Someone’s been watching us.”
Isaac snatched it from her hand and crushed it in his fist without blinking.
“Is it yours?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
“No,” he said tightly. “None of my safehouses are wired. That’s the point.”
“Then who—”
He grabbed his phone. “Luca. Sweep every inch of this place. Now. Full sweep. Signal trace, drone heat scans, all of it.”
Sabrina’s heart pounded. “What does this mean?”
“It means we’ve been compromised.”
By sunset, the truth was clear.
The house had been bugged.
Three devices. All planted recently.
One in the bathroom mirror.
One under the study desk.
One behind the bedroom vent.
Isaac stood on the porch, jaw tight, staring into the trees like he expected them to blink back.
“I picked this place for a reason,” he muttered. “No one outside my inner circle knew about it.”
Sabrina stood beside him. “Then someone inside your circle betrayed you.”
He didn’t deny it.
Which scared her more than anything.
“They wanted to scare us,” she said. “Let us know we’re being watched.”
“No,” Isaac replied. “They wanted to remind me I’m not untouchable.”
He turned to her.
“But they made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“They came for you.”
Her breath caught.
“I don’t care if they take me out,” he said. “But the second they involved you… they made this personal.”
His voice was low. Calm. Deadly.
Sabrina felt a chill run down her spine.
Not from fear of him.
From the knowledge that he would burn the world down for her if someone handed him a match.
And a small part of her—the part that had once felt powerless, voiceless, erased—felt seen in a way no courtroom ever gave her.
“Who do we hit first?” she asked.
Isaac blinked. “You want to help?”
“This is my life too.”
He smiled faintly. “Then we start with the cleaner who serviced this house two days ago. I want their name. And then we go up the ladder.”
She nodded.
“Then I want to find Linarez,” she said.
Isaac stepped closer. “We will.”
“But not to kill him,” she added.
That made him pause.
“No?”
“I want to expose him. Publicly.”
Isaac raised a brow. “That’ll take longer. It’s more dangerous.”
“I’ve been silenced enough,” she said. “Let me be loud now.”
His jaw tensed… but then, he nodded.
“As you wish.”
Later that night, she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall vent where one of the bugs had been found.
Isaac entered with tea—again pretending they both drank it.
“I can sleep on the couch if you want space,” he offered.
She shook her head. “I want you here.”
He set the mugs down.
“Can I ask you something?” she whispered.
“Anything.”
“What made you this way?”
He sat beside her.
“My father.”
Her brows rose.
“He wasn’t a monster,” Isaac said. “He was a coward. He did nothing while his family rotted from the inside out. I learned early that silence doesn’t save people. Power does.”
Sabrina looked at him for a long time. “I think you’ve been trying to save yourself for a long time.”
He didn’t reply.
But he didn’t look away.
And that said enough.
She lay down beside him.
No kisses. No promises.
Just proximity.
And this time, when sleep came, she didn’t dream of fire.
She dreamed of glass shattering… and someone standing beside her, shielding her from the shards.
Across the city, in a sleek black car, Dr. Emilio Linarez stared at a monitor showing fuzzy surveillance footage from a bathroom mirror.
The device had stopped transmitting hours ago.
But not before it caught something interesting.
Her expression. Her panic. Her realization.
“She remembers something,” he whispered.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out a worn, dog-eared notebook.
Inside, sketches.
Drawings from a little girl’s mind.
A child’s attempt to understand what was done to her.
He smiled.
“Let’s see how far she’s willing to go to prove it.”
- Writer
