It began with a shimmer in the ink of the river.
The current was calm, the air heavy with midsummer warmth. The sky was still — too still — and then the reflection moved before the water did.
Not a ripple. A flicker. A tremor, faint as breath held too long.
Lena knelt at the edge, dipping her fingers into the cool surface. It should have been just water, but her skin tingled — as if the current remembered her name.
Dominic was beside her instantly, hand on her shoulder. “What is it?”
“The river,” she whispered. “It’s reading.”
---
The Mirror Flow
The reflection did not mimic them anymore.
When Lena moved, the image stayed still. When she stilled, the water shifted. Letters formed briefly on the surface — their shapes fleeting, rearranging before words could settle.
Then, faintly,
