Fire And Mirrors
261 Words
The city felt alive tonight—hungry, predatory.
Elara and Adrian ducked through alleys, following the ledger’s coordinates to a forgotten mansion on the edge of the river. Its gates were rusted, ivy clawing at stone, but the inside smelled of smoke and power.
“This is it,” Adrian whispered. “Somewhere inside, we’ll find proof.”
Inside, mirrors lined the walls. Dozens of them, reflecting not only their images but shadows that weren’t theirs.
Elara’s pulse raced. “This place… it’s like a trap.”
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.
“Welcome home, Elara.”
She froze. The voice was unmistakable, impossibly familiar.
“Father?” she whispered.
A man stepped forward from the shadows. Not a ghost. Not a memory. Alive. Older, harder, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
“Marcellus Voss,” Adrian breathed.
“Alive,” Elara said, almost laughing. “You… you survived?”
He studied her carefully. “I survived, yes. But you… you’ve become something I never expected.”
Elara realized the truth instantly: her father wasn’t a victim. He was part of the machinery she thought she was destroying.
Marcellus smiled faintly, almost cruelly.
“And now,” he said, “you’re in the middle of a war you barely understand. And the Black Court… they’re not the only enemy.”
From the darkness, footsteps echoed. Slow. Calculated.
Elara drew her gun. Adrian did the same.
Marcellus stepped back. “Remember this—the line between love and revenge is a razor. And both of you are about to bleed.”
- Writer
