Salem stood frozen, staring at the cracked mirror. The other version of himself smiled back—a thin, deliberate smile that belonged to someone who knew far more than he did. > “You’re me,” Salem whispered. The reflection tilted its head. > “Am I? Or am I just what you become when you keep peeling the layers? Hard to say anymore.” Before Salem could speak again, the station speakers crackled to life. A distorted voice, sharp as breaking glass, announced: > “Attention: Reality breach confirmed. Subject Salem Grey. High-priority containment. All agents converge.” A mechanical hiss echoed through the air. Salem’s heart lurched. “They’re coming for me.” The reflection laughed, a hollow, grating sound. > “Of course they are. You’re the Writer’s biggest headache, Salem. Every

