My eyes snapped open. Not to the familiar, clean...
My breath hitched, a strangled sound caught in my throat. The skeletal figure, draped in what looked like ancient, decaying wedding lace, pulled itself free from the mirror. Its eyes, two burning embers in hollow sockets, fixed on Azrael. This wasn't some random ghost. This was personal.
"You left me in the In-Between, my love," the banshee-like voice rasped, a sound like dry leaves skittering across forgotten graves. It was a woman's voice, laced with an intimacy that curdled my stomach. "But I never let go. I never let go."
Azrael, for the first time since I'd known him, looked… wrong-footed. His void eyes narrowed, a flicker of something I couldn't quite decipher—alarm? Recognition? Regret?—crossing his features. He didn't move, but his presence, usually a solid, unyielding darkness, seemed to ripple.
"Euphemia," he murmured, the name a low, guttural sound, ancient and heavy. "You broke the terms."
"Terms?" she shrieked, her voice rising, echoing off the fractured mirrors. "You speak of terms? You, who devour souls and call it 'balance'? You bind women to your dying existence, drain them of their essence, and then discard them when they no longer serve your endless hunger!"
My head snapped between them, my grip on Cam's arm tightening, though the invisible barrier still held us apart. My heart hammered against my ribs. Drain them? Discard them? Was this what I was signing up for? Was this my "true nature"?
"She lies," Azrael stated, his voice regaining some of its chilling calm, though a subtle tension remained in his shoulders. "Her mind was… twisted by the In-Between. She sought power beyond her capacity."
"Oh, he's good, isn't he, little mortal?" Euphemia cackled, her gaze, those burning embers, swiveling to me. "Always the victim, always the noble guide. He spins pretty tales of 'balance' and 'destiny,' but he's just a parasite, feeding on the life force of those foolish enough to love him. You're just the next offering, aren't you? The next pretty soul to keep his cold heart beating."
The mirrors around us began to crack further, not just spiderwebbing, but actively shattering. The reflections warped, twisting into grotesque caricatures of my own fears. The old woman bleeding alone, the younger me stepping in front of a car, Cam consumed by flames—they all swirled together, blending with flashes of other images: a grand, decaying ballroom, a woman screaming, Azrael's face, younger, more human, filled with a sorrow I hadn't seen before. The chamber wasn't just reflecting; it was remembering.
"He abandoned me!" Euphemia screamed, her voice a raw, wounded thing. "He promised forever, and then he left me to rot in this… this void!"
A shard of mirror, sharp and jagged, flew past my ear, embedding itself in the wall behind me with a sickening thunk. It wasn't just glass; it felt like a concentrated dose of pure anxiety. Then another, and another, each one a psychic dagger aimed at my deepest insecurities. You're not good enough. You'll always be alone. Everyone leaves you eventually. My failures, my grief, my fear of abandonment—they flashed before my eyes, amplified by the fractured reflections.
"Stay behind me, Sera," Azrael commanded, his voice low and urgent, finally stepping forward, placing himself between me and Euphemia. But even as he did, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, like a phantom limb, seemed to tug at him, drawing him back towards Euphemia. Their old bond, a lingering, toxic thread, was still there, pulling him.
I couldn't just stand there, watching this ghost of a woman accuse the Angel of Death of being a cosmic gold-digger. And I definitely couldn't stand there while she flung my emotional baggage at me like deadly confetti.
"What broke you?!" I yelled, my voice cracking but firm. "What did he do?!" I didn't know her name, but the raw pain in her voice resonated with my own fear of being left behind.
Euphemia's head snapped to me, her burning eyes blazing with renewed fury. "He did what he always does! He takes! And you, foolish girl, you will be next! I will tear you apart, piece by agonizing piece, and take my rightful place! I am the true bride!"
My blood ran cold, then boiled. My rightful place? Oh, hell no. I wasn't anyone's replacement, especially not a vengeful ghost's. A surge of pure, unadulterated rage, hot and unfamiliar, pulsed through my veins. It was the kind of anger that made me deadly, the kind that made me stop overthinking and just act.
My eyes darted to the nearest mirror, the one showing my older, despairing self, but now it was fractured, too. Without a second thought, I balled my hand into a fist and punched it.
Glass exploded outwards, a satisfying CRACK echoing through the chamber. Tiny, glittering shards rained down around me. I ignored the sting on my knuckles, focusing on the larger pieces. My hand closed around a jagged shard, surprisingly heavy, surprisingly sharp.
"Cam!" I screamed, lunging towards the invisible barrier that separated us. Euphemia shrieked, a sound of pure outrage, and lunged for me, but Azrael was there, a blur of dark suit, intercepting her.
I slammed the mirror shard against the invisible wall, again and again, a desperate, frantic rhythm. It felt like cutting through solid air, but then, a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer, like a ripple in water, appeared where the shard met the barrier. It's working!
"Sera, no!" Azrael's voice, strained, cut through the din. He was locked in a silent, desperate struggle with Euphemia, their forms blurring at the edges. "You can only save one soul! This is the law of the In-Between! Every bride must face a parting!"
My heart plummeted. Save one? Was he serious? This was a cosmic trolley problem, and Cam was tied to the tracks. I ignored him, my gaze fixed on Cam, who was now screaming, shadows like grasping hands reaching out from the mirrors, trying to pull her in. Her mop lay forgotten on the floor.
"Cam, hold on!" I yelled, my voice raw. I lunged forward, pushing against the weakening barrier, trying to reach her. My fingers brushed against hers, just for a second, a fleeting contact that felt like a lifeline.
But then, Euphemia, with a horrifying burst of speed, broke free from Azrael's hold. She was a spectral blur, bypassing him, her withered hand lashing out, not for me, but for Cam.
"Mine!" she shrieked, her voice triumphant, as her bony fingers wrapped around Cam's arm.
Cam's eyes, wide with terror, locked onto mine. Her face was contorted in a silent scream as Euphemia dragged her, not into one of the smaller, fractured reflections, but into the spiraling, dark vortex that had formed where Euphemia had first emerged.
"Sera!" Cam's voice was a choked whisper, barely audible over the growing roar of the vortex. As she disappeared, her lips moved, forming two words that would haunt me:
"Don't trust..."
And then she was gone. The vortex snapped shut, leaving only a shimmering, unbroken mirror in its place.
The entire Bonding Chamber groaned, a deep, resonant sound like a dying beast. The remaining mirrors vibrated violently, then began to shatter, not just cracking, but disintegrating into dust. The floor rippled like water, the ceiling dissolved into an inky blackness. The In-Between was collapsing around us.
"We must go," Azrael said, his voice tight, his hand appearing on my arm, cold and firm. He didn't pull; he shifted.
One moment, the world was a kaleidoscope of shattering glass and collapsing void. The next, I landed hard on my ass, the familiar, slightly sticky carpet of my apartment digging into my palms. Azrael landed beside me, not quite as gracefully as usual, stumbling slightly.
The apartment was… off. The air was thick, heavy, like static electricity before a storm. My cheap wall clock was dead, its hands frozen at an impossible hour. My phone, lying on the coffee table, buzzed with missed calls—a dozen of them, all from "Cam's Mom." How much time had passed? Minutes? Hours? Days?
I scrambled to my feet, my body aching, my knuckles bleeding from punching the mirror. Azrael was leaning against the wall, his head bowed, his usually pristine black suit rumpled. The void in his eyes seemed… deeper, somehow. His presence, usually so overwhelming, felt muted, like a radio signal fading out. He wasn't in control. Not right now.
My best friend. My ride-or-die. Gone. Dragged into a nightmare by a vengeful ghost bride. And Azrael, the all-powerful Angel of Death, was just… standing there, looking like he'd been hit by a truck.
My eyes burned, but the tears wouldn't come. Not yet. Instead, a cold, hard knot of fury settled in my gut. This wasn't a romantic comedy anymore. This was a tragedy, and I was going to make someone pay.
"What the hell was that?!" I snarled, my voice low and dangerous, turning to face him. "What did she mean by "don't trust..."?! And where is Cam?!"