7
955 Words
Chapter 7: Shadows in the Glass
The whisper faded, but the weight of its meaning lingered, thick and oppressive in the air. Mia’s breath was shallow, her body tense. The other guests were frozen, caught between fear and uncertainty.
The mirror at the far end of the room quivered. Its once-smoky surface shifted, the darkness within it swirling like storm clouds in a glass prison. A shape emerged—vague at first, nothing more than a smudge of shadow, but then it began to take form.
A figure.
Mia’s throat tightened. It wasn’t one of them. The reflection stood apart from the gathered guests, its presence wrong, like a misplaced brushstroke on a canvas. It was draped in black, its head tilted ever so slightly. The mask it wore was identical to the gold-masked figure’s—smooth, expressionless, unnerving.
The room, already silent, seemed to grow even quieter.
The stag-masked man exhaled sharply. “What the hell is that?”
No one answered.
Mia’s hands clenched into fists. She took a step forward, the floor creaking beneath her weight. Her own reflection hesitated, lagging behind her movements by the slightest fraction of a second. It was like watching an old film reel struggling to keep pace.
And behind her, the shadow in the glass loomed.
She spun around.
Nothing.
Just the other guests, their masked faces unreadable, their unease crackling through the air.
The woman in crimson let out a slow breath. “This isn’t happening,” she muttered, half to herself. “This isn’t real.”
The silver-masked man chuckled. “Oh, it’s real,” he said, his voice smooth, almost amused. “You just haven’t grasped the rules yet.”
Mia ignored him. Her eyes darted back to the mirror. The figure was still there, unmoving. Watching. Its presence sent a cold shiver down her spine.
“The game is meant to test you,” the silver-masked man continued, tilting his head. “To make you question everything.”
The gold-masked figure, still poised at the top of the stairs, finally spoke.
“And to reveal what you fear the most.”
Mia’s patience snapped. “We don’t have time for your riddles. If there’s a traitor, we need proof.”
The silver-masked man sighed. “The proof is already in front of you,” he murmured. “You just have to see it.”
Mia’s gaze flicked to the others. The woman in crimson had started pacing. The stag-masked man stood stiffly, arms crossed, eyes darting between the mirror and the masked figures at the staircase. The young woman beside Mia had paled, her fingers twisting together in nervous knots.
And then—
The mirror shifted again.
The shadow moved.
Not a flicker. Not a distortion.
A deliberate step forward.
Mia’s stomach clenched.
A hand pressed against the other side of the glass, long fingers splayed against the smooth surface. The figure leaned forward, and though its face remained hidden behind the mask, there was an unmistakable presence in its movements—something sentient. Something aware.
The woman in crimson took a sharp step back. “Enough,” she hissed. “I’m done playing this game.”
No one stopped her as she turned on her heel, striding toward the door. She reached for the handle, fingers curling around the brass—
The clock struck half past midnight.
A deep, resonant chime.
The lights flickered.
The woman in crimson yelped, jerking her hand away from the doorknob as if burned. The lights sputtered again, then steadied, casting long, wavering shadows across the walls.
And then—
A scream.
Mia’s head snapped around.
The young woman—the one who had whispered to Mia earlier—was on the floor. Her mask had slipped slightly, revealing wide, glassy eyes. Her lips were parted in a frozen gasp.
She wasn’t moving.
She wasn’t breathing.
Mia’s blood turned to ice.
The guests remained rooted in place, too shocked to move. The only sound was the ragged breathing of the stag-masked man.
The gold-masked figure tilted their head slightly. “The house has made its first decision.”
The words sent a fresh wave of dread through Mia’s body.
“She’s—” The stag-masked man’s voice was hoarse. “She’s dead.”
No one responded.
Mia’s pulse thundered.
The silver-masked man exhaled, almost disappointed. “A shame,” he murmured. “She should have played.”
A cold fury surged through Mia. “She was playing!” she snapped. “She wasn’t a traitor!”
The silver-masked man gave a lazy shrug. “Then she was simply too slow.”
Mia took a step toward him, fists clenched. “You—”
A soft rustling sound interrupted her.
The envelope.
It sat on the center table, untouched since the note had been read aloud.
But now—
The parchment had changed.
The words that had been inked across it had faded, replaced by something new.
Mia’s heart pounded as she stepped closer, her hands shaking as she reached for the brittle paper. The others followed, their movements slow, hesitant.
The ink was fresh. As if it had been written just moments ago.
One down.
Who’s next?
A suffocating silence followed.
The stag-masked man exhaled sharply. “We have to get out of here.”
The woman in crimson swallowed hard. “No one leaves until someone is named.”
Mia stared at the parchment, her mind racing.
One down.
That meant this wasn’t over.
She looked at the mirror again. The figure in black had vanished.
But the lingering sensation of being watched remained.
A deep unease coiled in her stomach.
The rules of the game had just changed.
And time was still running out.
- Writer
