Ryan stood frozen at the window, his breath fogging the glass.
The silver circle in the yard pulsed once, then faded. But Mira's reflection remained—standing in the grass, her small hands clasped in front of her, her silver eyes fixed on the cottage. She didn't move. She didn't blink. She just waited.
Ryan turned to Mira's crib. The baby was still there, sleeping peacefully, her tiny chest rising and falling.
But her reflection was outside.
"Elena," he said, his voice tight. "Come here."
Elena crossed the room and looked out the window. Her hand flew to her mouth.
"That's her," she whispered. "That's Mira."
"She's still in the crib. That's her reflection."
"Reflections don't walk."
Ryan's scar pulsed. "They do now."
---
Mira's reflection stayed in the yard all day.
Ryan checked
