The figure stepped through the mirror sky, barefoot, eyes the same burnished hazel as Quinn’s—only colder. Empty. No warmth. No confusion. Just clarity sharpened into cruelty.
Jace’s breath caught in his throat.
Quinn staggered back, his hand clutching Rowan protectively.
“What the hell is that?” he whispered, voice barely holding together.
Rowan looked up slowly from where he leaned against Quinn’s side, golden eyes dimming as exhaustion set in. “That’s… not you, Papa.”
Kaelen's gaze narrowed, flicking between Quinn and the intruder.
“No. But it’s what created you,” he said slowly, voice lined with ancient weariness. “A perfected echo. A mold of fate wearing the face of the one you were destined to trust.”
The doppelgänger smiled—not a human smile. Too slow. Too precise.
“Is this
