After they left Father Aldric, Olivia asked softly, "Why did you say all those things back there?"
Angelo didn't reply. His eyes stayed fixed on his feet.
James exhaled, the tension in his voice barely hidden. "What's happening to you, Angelo?"
Before he could say more, Alex spoke. "Please… don't ask him anything right now."
He glanced at Angelo through the rearview mirror. "He's been through enough."
James and Olivia exchanged a silent look. Neither argued. Olivia placed her hand gently over Angelo's, while Emma sat quietly on Alex's lap in the front seat.
After a long stretch of silence, James muttered, "We should try another church. Maybe someone else can help him."
He looked at them through the mirror. Olivia gave a small nod. Angelo said nothing.
They drove to another church. The priest there examined Angelo's mark, muttered hollow reassurances, and offered a few words that sounded rehearsed. His eyes flicked once toward the donation box before he smiled.
They understood.
So they left.
At the next church, it was the same. The priest looked, spoke, blessed—and asked for money.
Frustration set in. Hope dragged behind them like a broken lantern, its light fading with every stop.
Alex finally asked, his voice barely above a whisper, "What do you think Father Aldric saw in him?"
James hesitated. "I don't know. But whatever it was… the others couldn't see it."
No one spoke after that. The silence filled the car, thick and heavy. By the time they reached home, it had become a weight pressing on all of them.
Inside, they gathered in the living room to decide what to do next. Emma had fallen asleep in the car, so Olivia tucked her into bed before returning.
Angelo sat on the couch, turning the TV on. He flipped through channels endlessly, never staying on one long enough to care. Olivia, Alex, and James watched him quietly, worry in their eyes.
After a while, Angelo turned the TV off, set the remote down, and stood.
"I'm going to my room."
James followed him quickly. "Angelo—wait. You don't have to go back there. You can stay with us, or share Alex's room, like when you two were little."
Angelo didn't stop walking.
When they reached the door, James stepped in front of him. "I'm not letting you go in there. No human can live in this."
Angelo slowly raised his head. His lifeless eyes met James's. He gave a faint, broken smile.
"You don't want me to stay in there because of the blood?"
James nodded firmly. "Yes. Now, let's—"
Before he could finish, Angelo whispered, "Then I'll just remove it."
James blinked. "What?"
Angelo raised his left hand and made a lazy, half-hearted wave.
The blood peeled away from the walls, the floor, and the furniture—lifting like smoke, swirling into a floating sphere of red. James's eyes widened in disbelief.
Then Angelo closed his fist. The sphere vanished into thin air.
The room was spotless. Not a trace of blood. Not even the smell.
James turned to him, voice trembling. "H… how? What just happened?"
Angelo stared down at his hands. His voice came out tired, hollow.
"Now do you see what I'm becoming?" He looked up, eyes glimmering with tears. "Can you still call me human?"
He swallowed hard. "Can you still call me your son?"
The words hit James like a blow. He opened his mouth—but nothing came out.
Angelo wiped at his eyes and whispered, "You don't have to answer that." Then he walked past him.
Before closing the door, Angelo said quietly, "Don't worry. I won't try to hurt myself again. It's pointless anyway. Nothing seems to end it."
He closed the door gently—but didn't lock it.
James stood frozen, staring at the wood grain of the door.
When he finally came downstairs, Olivia looked up sharply. "Where's Angelo?"
"In his room," James said, not meeting her eyes.
Her voice rose, trembling. "You let him go back into that nightmare?"
"How was I supposed to stop him!?" James snapped, tears in his voice. "He—he removed all the blood with just a wave of his hand!"
Olivia covered her mouth, horrified.
James's voice broke. "He asked me if I could still call him my son… and I couldn't answer."
He slammed his fists on the table. "Why, Olivia? Why couldn't I say it?"
Tears spilled from both of them. Alex stood nearby, silent tears streaming down his face.
Upstairs, in the dark, Angelo sat curled in a corner—knees pulled close, forehead resting on them. The mark on his back pulsed faintly, casting a ghostly blue light across the walls.
Downstairs, after a while, James and Olivia wiped their eyes. They turned and saw Alex still standing there, crying quietly. They pulled him into a hug.
Olivia whispered, "I'm sorry you had to see us like this."
Alex choked out, "I'm scared… What if Angelo changes?"
James held them tighter. "Don't say that. We'll do everything we can to make him normal again."
Alex didn't reply, but in his mind, a whisper surfaced:
What if… what he's becoming is his normal?
A few moments passed before Olivia said, "We should eat something. It's almost lunchtime—we haven't eaten since last night."
As she turned toward the kitchen, the doorbell rang.
Everyone flinched.
Olivia frowned. "Who could it be at this hour?"
"I'll check," Alex said, wiping his tears.
He opened the door.
A woman stood outside. She looked ordinary enough—long dark coat, worn boots, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder—but something about her felt wrong. Too still. Too quiet. Her tired eyes seemed to look through the house, not at it.
"I need to see the boy," she said calmly, her voice carrying strange weight but also… calm.
James stepped into view. "Who are you?"
"My name is Sophia Hawthorne," she replied. "I was sent by Father Aldric—to help your son."
James hesitated. "How did you get our address? We didn't give it to him."
"We know things that ordinary people don't understand."
She didn't mention the call she'd received from Father Aldric an hour ago—his voice trembling with fear.
"Go to them," he'd said. "The boy is not what he seems… but he may still be saved."
Sophia met James's uncertain gaze. "I don't expect you to trust me. But if you don't hurry, you might lose him."
James hesitated, weighed her words, then said quietly, "Alex… let her in."
The moment Sophia stepped inside, her breath hitched. The air pressed against her chest like unseen hands.
"Where is the boy?" she asked.
"In his room," James replied. Then, to Olivia: "Bring him down."
Olivia didn't argue. She climbed the stairs and slowly pushed open Angelo's door—it was unlocked.
The room was dim. Her eyes searched until she saw it: a faint blue glow in the far corner.
"Angelo?" she called softly. "Is that you?"
He was holding something.
As she stepped closer, she saw it — the broken mirror's frame. The sight made her stomach twist.
"Honey," she said gently, "what are you doing in the corner like that?"
"I feel safe here," he murmured. His voice was distant, detached.
"Okay… why don't you give me that? I don't want you to hurt yourself with it."
His eyes flicked to the bandage around her hand. "I wasn't going to hurt myself. I was trying to fix it."
"Fix it?" she echoed, confused. "You don't have to do that. And how could you even fix a broken mirror?"
Angelo lifted the frame. Slowly, the shards scattered across the floor began to rise — floating toward the frame like metal drawn to a magnet. The frame twisted with soft metallic clicks, reshaping itself. Each shard slid into place.
Olivia stood frozen, breath caught in her throat.
The cracks sealed one by one until the mirror looked new again.
Angelo set it on his nightstand. "Let's go. Someone wanted to see me, right?"
Olivia nodded wordlessly and followed him downstairs.
As he walked ahead, she noticed the faint light from the mark on his back fade away.
When they reached the living room, Sophia froze. It wasn't what she saw — it was what she felt.
The pressure.
The cold.
The vast, ancient weight pressing from behind his eyes.
Her pulse quickened.
Alex stiffened beside James. "He doesn't feel like my brother anymore," he whispered.
James placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't say that. He's still our Angelo."
Olivia said nothing. She only gripped Angelo's hand tighter.
Sophia stepped forward, voice soft but steady. "You must be, Angelo."
He looked at her — truly looked — and for a moment, she felt it: something immense and unseen, turning its gaze upon her from within him.
Her hands trembled.
But she didn't flinch.