The bathroom mirror didn’t just reflect Maya’s face—it almost felt alive, breathing out a cold, gray mist that curled along the glass. She stepped back, stumbling over the rug, pain flaring hot and sharp at her ankle where the silver spider clung beneath her skin. That thing wasn’t just tracking her. It was a door—one foot in each world.
“Julian! Dad!” Maya tried to shout. Nothing came out, her throat packed tight with sand.
In the mirror, the Librarian tilted her head. Her hair—white, and too smooth—flowed more like water than anything human. “They can’t hear you, Maya. I put a veil over this room. To them, you’re just washing up. To me, you’re an open book.”
Maya grabbed the nearest thing she could—a heavy glass candle from the counter. Her grip went bone-white. “Get out of my head. I
