The fog clung to the streets like a living thing, curling around the edges of buildings, snaking along the cracks in the pavement. Elara Wolfe moved through it with a weight in her chest, every step measured, every breath shallow. The city was silent, unnaturally so, as if it too held its breath for what was about to happen.
Her thoughts were fragmented, torn between the remnants of last night's memory and the growing awareness that she was not alone within herself. Raven lurked in the corners of her mind, watching, waiting, and now acting without her consent. She could feel her presence like a shadow stretching along her spine, cold and precise.
Ahead, a narrow alley appeared, one she had never noticed before yet somehow knew. The red fog from her visions rose at the far end, thick and suffocating, pulsing as though it had a heartbeat of its own. And there she saw her — the woman in the crimson coat, collapsed on the ground, blood spreading in a dark pool beneath her.
Elara froze. Her heart thrashed violently against her ribcage. Part of her screamed to run, to flee, but another part — Raven, she realized — took control before she could decide. Her legs moved, not by her will but by the silent command of the protector inside her.
The alley stretched on infinitely, warped by the fog. Shadows shifted unnaturally along the brick walls, forming shapes that were almost human. Her eyes caught movement: a figure at the far end, tall, deliberate, watching her every step. Raven moved with lethal precision, silent as a predator, leaving subtle marks in the shadows — footprints, faint smudges of blood, evidence that could implicate someone… but whom?
Elara's chest constricted. She wanted to scream, but the sound died in her throat. The figure stepped closer, and for a moment, she thought she recognized the movement, the posture. It was familiar — hers.
The realization hit like ice in her veins: she was being watched… by herself. Or by a version of herself she didn't fully understand.
The crimson-coated woman groaned and reached out, grasping at the air as though seeking something beyond her reach. Raven knelt beside her with precise efficiency, checking vitals, stabilizing, yet leaving enough chaos behind to be suspicious if anyone arrived.
Elara wanted to intervene, to take control, to understand what was happening. But she was trapped in the corner of her own consciousness, observing helplessly as Raven manipulated the scene, the protector moving through the world in silence and deadly efficiency.
Then a sound cut through the fog — footsteps, deliberate and heavy. Elara's pulse quickened as another presence entered the alley. Mira. She didn't know it yet, but the manipulative personality had arrived. The fog seemed to thicken around her, redder now, almost suffocating, and Elara felt the faint whisper of another mind threading through hers: You're not ready, but soon, you will be.
Mira's laugh was soft, taunting, a melody of malice threading through Elara's consciousness. The footsteps grew closer, and with them came the certainty that the battle for control — for her very life — had begun.
Elara's stomach twisted, and the alley seemed to stretch endlessly. Shadows moved, the fog thickened, and she realized with absolute clarity: she was not just fighting outside forces. She was fighting herself. And one of her fragments was deliberately framing another… and she didn't yet know which one.